Escapade
by Miss Jazz
Summary: Grissom, Sara, and Lindsey get lost. GSR.
1. The Vacation Allergy

**Escapade**

By Miss Jazz

**

* * *

Category:** Humour/Romance, GSR 

**Spoilers:** "Grave Danger" and "Bodies In Motion."

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. I'm just borrowing and having a little fun with the characters!

**Author's Note:** I've had this story on my mind for awhile now, and I really needed to start writing it, regardless of the fact that Faithful Light is still in the works ;) This story is set after Grave Danger and after the team is back together, but _before_ Bodies In Motion. I'm going to overlook the fact that Warrick is married! It just didn't really fit in! I'd also like to mention that TriplePirouette has a wonderful story out there called "Wide As The Ocean Is" and I am going to be careful not to make my story too similar, because they are both based on the same concept–just a little different. I highly recommend you read her story though–it is fabulous! And a Faithful Light update is coming in the next few days! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews for the last chapter! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my next WIP :)

* * *

"Do we get a movie on this flight?" 

"Yes sir."

"Do we get those little packages of pretzels?"

"Yes sir."

"And then do we get lunch?"

"_Yes_ sir."

"And beverages?"

"_Yes_ sir."

"And then do we get_ more_ of those little packages of pretzels?"

The tiny flight attendant might have replied again if Greg Sanders hadn't been whisked off of his feet.

"Sit down, _sir_," a very impatient Sara Sidle commanded, as she firmly pulled an over-excited Greg down into the seat next to her. "Just sit down, put your seatbelt on, and read your safety manual," she instructed, loosening her grasp on the younger CSI's arm. Then, putting a smile on her face, she turned to the blushing flight attendant and she shook her head."I'm so sorry. His pills haven't kicked in yet."

The flight attendant blinked rapidly. "I understand," she blurted out. With wide eyes, she gave Greg a very strange look and then promptly disappeared.

Greg tried to scowl at Sara as he fastened his seatbelt, but his smile was too powerful. "Thank-you for that," he said, managing an almost serious snivel. "Now she's going to be scared of me for the whole flight!"

"Really?" Sara raised one eyebrow. "I'm sure I had nothing to do with that, Greggo."

"And _I'm_ sure you did," he countered, grinning at Sara and elbowing her as he tried to get comfortable in his seat. "Just because you're allergic to vacations doesn't mean you get to sneeze all over the rest of us. I was having_ fun_ with that flight attendant."

"Yeah, but _she_ wasn't having any fun with _you_."

"You don't know that. How can you even say that? _Everyone_ has fun with me! Even _you_ have fun with me!"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Well, the end of the world must be near then, Greg, because she was definitely not having fun with you." She handed him her safety manual. "Here, prepare for the worst."

"Thanks but no thanks," Greg replied. And then, in mock exasperation, he reached in front of Sara with his finger pointed and ready to poke Nick Stokes firmly in the arm. "Hey, Nicky–"

Nick looked up from his travel magazine just as Greg's finger connected with his shoulder. "Hey, G. What's up?"

"If the booze cart comes down your aisle first, will you get Sara something? Please? I think our intrepid traveller could use a little boost of happiness. You know, something to help her loosen up? Anything?"

"Sure," Nick replied, winking.

Sara sighed. "Give me a break, guys. We haven't even taken off yet–"

"Precisely," Greg interrupted. "We haven't even taken off yet and you're already pining. For the _lab._"

"What can I say? I miss my luminol."

"Sarcasm noted, Sar," Nick chuckled, as he patted her arm. "No worries.'Rick and I will keep an eye on this aisle. If we see it, we'll fix you up."

On the other side of Nick, Warrick Brown–upon hearing his name–bent over, peering across the row of seats. "See what first?" he asked, as he tucked his bag under the seat in front of him.

"The beverage cart," Sara said dryly. "The one with _alcohol. _After we take off, they want you to help flag it down for me. Apparently I'm not happy enough about being squished into the middle of the middle four seats with you three."

Warrick smiled softly. "Ah, lighten up girl. They just know how hard this is for you."

Greg nodded vigourously. "And alcohol at a high altitude just might make you a happy vacationer, which would be a very good thing."

"Thanks guys," Sara breathed. "But I'm working on cutting back."

"Cutting back?" came a booming voice from the aisle next to Warrick's seat. "What should be cut back is the fee you have to pay for overweight luggage and the time it takes to actually go and pay it." With a slight shake of his head, Jim Brass waved at the four CSIs and then made a dramatic gesture toward Gil Grissom, who was wedged in the aisle beside him."Guess who packed his whole library?"

"Grissom," came three synchronized replies.

Sara was the one who held back. "Oh come on, Brass," she said playfully, a second later. "We all know Grissom's library wouldn't even come close to fitting on this plane." For a moment, her eyes sparkled.

"I only packed a few books," sighed Grissom.

"And he's got a few more of them in his carry-on too,"added Brass. "It's a pretty heavy sucker, let me tell ya." He gestured againat Grissom, who was clearly struggling to hold up the weight of his big duffel bag. "Well, at least we finally made it on."

"Let's just find our seats,"grumbled the CSI supervisor. "We're holding up the line."

Brass pressed his lips together and let out an amused huff. "Lindsey Willows and I must go."

"Lindsey?" Warrick said in confusion.

Brass was ready with an answer."Gil has Lindsey's assigned seat, and Lindsey has Gil's," explained the detective. "They traded so she can sit with Catherine. I'm too much of a bad influence, I guess." He laughed. "Anyway, we're behind you a couple of rows. On the side. I'm calling the window seat!" And with that, the two men moved down the aisle, with Grissom practically dragging his bag behind him.

"So where _are_ Cath and Lindsey?" Nick asked, his eyes scanning the interior of the large plane. He knew they'd been right behind him in the boarding line, but he hadn't seen them since then. He briefly wondered how it was possible to lose two people in such a small amount of time–and space.

Greg was about to open his mouth, to say that he hadn't seen them, when Catherine and Lindsey Willows came down the aisle on his side, both of them looking pretty desperate to find their seats.

"Do you want the window seat, Linds?" Catherine called out, her voice tight from stress. "I'm pretty sure our seats are on the side." She looked down at the boarding passes in her hand and nodded. "They are. Do you want the window?" she asked again.

Without replying to her mother's question, Lindsey came to a stop next to Greg and she smiled broadly. "Hey!"

"Well hey there, Lindsey," said Greg. "What happened to you two?"

The blonde girl giggled. "Mom thought she left her sunglasses in the washroom, so we went back to get them but then we realized that they were on her head the whole time!"

"And she hasn't stopped laughing since," Catherine said, as she dropped her purse into one of the seats across the aisle from Greg."This is us, Linds. Are you taking the window?"

Lindsey eyed Greg mischievously. "I'd rather sit in the aisle seat," she decided. "Can I, Mom?"

"Yeah, just let me slide over." Catherine quickly tucked her carry-on bag into the overhead compartment and then collapsed into the window seat, looking over at Greg in pure relief. "I can't believe we finally made it on," she sighed, her face flushed.

"That seems to be the universal reaction," replied Greg. "Brass just said the same thing. I guess they finally managed to get Grissom's million pound suitcase loaded–for an additional fee."

Catherine nodded. "I heard all about it. They were right in front of us two minutes ago." She sat up a bit, looking around to see if they'd found their seats. Her gaze came to rest on the other side of the plane, about four rows back, where Brass was looking comfortable in his window seat and Grissom was looking very, very lost. "Well, with his books or without them, I still can't believe he came," she said, a strong smile curving her lips.

"Who?" Lindsey asked, as she plopped down into her seat.

"I think she means Grissom," Greg replied, giving her a wink.

"Oh." Lindsey seemed surprised. "Why wouldn't Uncle Gil want to come?"

Now it was Greg's turn to be surprised. "Uh, Lindsey? How well do you _know_ your Uncle Gil?"

"As well as he lets anybody know him," Catherine replied for her daughter.

Lindsey looked confused but she nodded anyway. "Right. Um, well I was just thinking that you'd have to be like completely _insane_ to not want to go on a cruise!"

Grinning, Greg elbowed Sara sharply. "You hear that, Sara?"

"Ow, dammit! _Yes._"

Lindsey's dancing eyes widened. "Sara doesn't want to go either? What's up with you people?"

"Sara and Uncle Gil _want_ to go," Catherine explained patiently. "They're just not used to this sort of thing. Their idea of vacation is working only one shift a day, so they're going to need a little encouragement."

"They don't know how to relax," Greg said simply. "Or how to have a good time, or how to be sociable for more than ten minutes, or how to–"

"Greg!" muttered Sara. She looked over at Lindsey. "It's not true."

Lindsey laughed while Greg shook his head."Yes, it _is,_ Sara," he said, as he grabbed the crime novel she'd been clutching and handed her his travel magazine. "Page ten. Look carefully."

"What's on page ten?"

"Open the magazine, Sidle."

Sara bit back a laugh as she flipped to the tenth page, with both Greg and Nick looking over her shoulders."_This_ is what's waiting for us in Miami?" she asked, in clear amazement, as her eyes scanned the colourful photographs on Greg's favourite page. "It's really, uh, _big._ I swear, it didn't look that big in the other pamphlets."

"Seven Days Of Spectacular Southern Sun," Nick said, reading the headline out loud.

Sara smiled. "And what if it rains?"

"Then we can forego sunbathing for one of the other hundred activities on this thing," Nick replied lightly. His eyes continued to follow the small text under the photos. "From top to bottom, from bow to stern, and from port to starboard, this ship is full of enjoyable activities for everyone! Highlights include several outdoor pools, a covered pool, an arcade, a casino, a theatre, sports deck, various bars, lounges, and discos, cafes, restaurants, a huge main dining room, shopping, a spa, a cinema, art gallery, a library, enrichment seminars–"

"Library? Enrichment seminars?" Sara's eyes shot open. "Really?"

Greg smirked. "Yep. Should be lots of fun–for you and Grissom." Sara's heart skipped a beat. "The rest of us will be off having _real_ fun, of course."

"–cooking classes, a healthy eating on vacation program, a full gym with all types of exercise equipment, yoga and aerobics classes, organized events daily and even mini-golf! Thirteen decks of fun and relaxation in the Caribbean sun! And don't forget the sensational ports of call!"concluded Nick. He took a deep breath, looking more content and relaxed than he had in a long time. "By the time we're done all this, we'll need another vacation!"

"Even if we do none of it, we'll need another vacation," spoke up Warrick. "Don't forget–we're working doubles for weeks when we get home." He groaned inwardly at the thought of the long shifts to come, when they would all be working extra time so the other shifts could take their holidays as well. It was only fair.

"It'll be worth it," announced Greg. "_So_ worth it."

Nick nodded. "Hey–where's day-shift going again? Last I heard it was something in Jamaica?"

Greg shook his head. "Days picked an all-inclusive in the _Bahamas_. Sofia was telling me all about it. Sounds pretty nice."

Sara pursed her lips. "Remind me again–why did we pick to get stranded at sea for a week? And why didn't Sofia come with us?" She searched her memory, trying to recall the reason why the blonde CSI-turned-night-shift-detective had chosen to accompany day-shift instead.

"You _agreed_ to the cruise, Sar," Nick reminded her. "We're not going to be stranded at sea. We're stopping in a bunch of different places and it'll all be amazing."

"And Sofia is going with days because Brass is coming with us," said Warrick. "She said something about scheduling." He shrugged. "I don't know. She knows day-shift better anyway. Worked with them longer. Makes more sense to go with them, I guess."

"I think everything worked out the way it should," spoke up Catherine. "Everyone's happy–" She paused, eyeing Sara from across the aisle. "Or they _will_ be."

Sara threw up her hands. "It's not that I'm not happy! I _am_. I'm just–"

"Afraid?" suggested Greg. "Afraid of our escapade?"

"Escapade?"

Greg pointed at page ten again, his finger tapping over a small paragraph that Sara and Nick hadn't read yet."See right here? The magazine describes this trip as a 'sunny_ escapade,_'as in adventure, romp, or _fling,_" he scanned the text again quickly. "And–wow, I think they actually managed to use every one of those words in this paragraph–"

"That's, uh, really great, Greggo. And I _know_ what 'escapade' means, thank-you."

"Of course you do, oh queen of sarcasm." He studied the odd expression on Sara's face and a sly grin curved his lips. "You're going to have the time of your life, Sara, and you're freaked out beyond belief."

"I'm not freaked out."

"Yes you are."

"Greg, what are you, five?"

Greg just smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Ah well, _I_ can't wait for this," he said, just as the plane's engines started up. "Some pilot introductions and emergency instructions, and then we'll be on our way." He gave Sara a dramatic look and then patted the top of her hand. "Sit back and enjoy, Sara. There's no turning back now."

* * *

"There's no turning back now," Sara said, repeating Greg's words to her reflection about two hours into the flight. Locked in one of the plane's tiny bathrooms, Sara was making an honest attempt to talk herself into relaxation mode. But so far, she wasn't having any luck. 

"You're on vacation," she said quietly, over and over again, as she stared down the pale, thin brunette in the mirror. "Just relax. Take it easy. Enjoy. Get some sun and stop raining on everyone's parade. You _wanted_ to come, Sidle. You weren't going to be left behind. There's a _reason_ why you're here. So many reasons! Just have fun. Have fun and shut up and _relax._"

Sara gave her reflection a strained smile, allowing herself to drift off into a brief daydream. For a moment, she was able to picture herself laying on a deck chair by the pool, enjoying the sun and the feel of the gentle breeze as it danced through her hair. She could almost smell the ocean, and hear the waves. Completely surrendering herself to her little dream, Sara tried to imagine what it would be like if she actually got to spend some time alone with Grissom during the week. Perhaps they would be able to sit and talk one day, and spend some time looking at the sea together. Was that idea too far-fetched?

"Of course it is," Sara whispered, pulling herself out of the dream and moving to unlock the door. "I promised not to do this to myself anymore. So I won't." And then, with determination, she left the washroom, taking only a few steps before smacking right into Jim Brass.

"There you are," Brass said, as he helped peel Sara off of his chest.

"Here I am–" Sara replied, letting out a long, uncertain breath. "What's up, Brass?"

"Warrick said that you have Tylenol in your purse."

"Extra Strength. Why? You okay?"

Brass nodded. "_I'm_ fine, but your fellow party pooper over there is not."

Sara followed Brass' gaze and found herself staring over at Grissom, who was almost asleep in his seat, with a book–most likely about bugs–in his hand and his glasses nearing the tip of his nose. Sara smiled warmly at the sight, just for a moment, before letting her concern shine through. "What's wrong?" she asked, leading the way back to her seat to grab her purse. "Is he alright?"

"Bad headache. He's trying to sleep it off but we have two very loud, talkative women sitting behind us. So loud and talkative that I'm pretty sure Gil and I could tell you their life stories. Condensed versions, of course."

"I think I'll pass," Sara said, as she came to a stop. She was about to lean over Greg, to get her purse, when Lindsey reached across the aisle and slapped the youngest CSI's arm. Hard.

"Greg!" she hissed, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Mom's sleeping with her mouth open! You _have_ to take a picture!"

Sara and Brass immediately looked over at Catherine who was, indeed, sleeping with her mouth open. Exchanging a surprised look, the pair then turned to look at Greg, who was fumbling wildly for his camera, and then at Lindsey, who had launched herself into a fit of pre-teen giggles.

"Well there's something you don't see every day," Brass commented, as his gaze shifted back to Catherine. She looked comfortable sleeping in the seat, with her head leaning against the window and a blanket pulled up to her chin.

"And that's why we take pictures," Greg declared, leaning into the aisle to get closer.

Giving Greg yet another mischievous look, Lindsey bent down, dropping her head between her knees while Greg took a picture of Catherine in the midst of her siesta."Please, please, _please_ blow that up and frame it!"she squealed, her voice muffled. Then, still laughing hysterically, she turned her head to look at Greg. "You have to put it someplace where everyone will see!"

"Wow, you're quite the little instigator, aren't you?" Greg grinned and reached over, giving Lindsey a high-five. "I think we're gonna have a lot of fun on this trip, little lady."

Sara actually laughed as she retrieved her purse. "Don't get her into too much trouble, Greggo. I'm not sure Cath would appreciate that."

"I was thinking it was going to be the other way around,"chuckled Greg. "She's the one with the great ideas."

"Well I know better than to underestimate you," Sara replied. Then she followed Brass back up the aisle and across to the other one.

By the time they reached Grissom, the plane was bouncing along in a patch of turbulence and the seatbelt signs were illuminated. _Well isn't that fitting?_ Sara grumbled to herself, as she searched through her purse for the small bottle of Tylenol she'd brought. "Hey, Griss," she said softly, as she hovered over his aisle seat.

"Relief is here," announced Brass. "Sara keeps pills in her purse."

Sara gave the detective a brief glare. "Tylenol," she quickly clarified. "And some Gravol, in case I get seasick. Or airsick. Or just–_sick_. I came prepared."

"Sounds like you have the vacation allergy," Brass mused, squeezing Sara's shoulder. He turned to Grissom. "See, Gil? You're not the only one."

"I _know _that, Jim." Grissom sat up straight in his seat, massaging his temples as he looked up at Sara. She handed him the bottle of Tylenol. "Thanks, Sara," he said gently, giving her a weak, grateful smile. "I really appreciate it. Mine's in my suitcase, and well–"

"It's down in the luggage compartment being crushed by a hundred heavy books," finished Brass.

Sara grinned. "It's no problem, really. I'll leave it with you, okay?"

Before Grissom could answer, the plane dropped into a rather large air pocket and Sara stumbled in the aisle. "Sara–" Grissom reached out and grabbed her arm, hoping to steady her.

"It's getting, uh, bumpy," Sara said, as she regained her footing. For a moment, she just stood there, enjoying the simple fact that Grissom was holding her arm, his grasp firm but soft. She didn't even notice that Brass had grabbed her other arm.

"Maybe we should sit down," Brass said, raising his eyebrows. And with that, he released Sara's arm and crawled across Grissom. He fastened his seatbelt right away, staring up at the illuminated sign.

Grissom released Sara's other arm a second later, with what seemed to be a little bit of reluctance in his eyes. "Yes, you probably should sit down," he said carefully.

"Yeah," agreed Sara. "I'm sure Greg already misses me."

Grissom frowned. "What?"

"I'm sure he misses _teasing_ me about being allergic to vacations and about reading crime novels when I should be reading travel magazines and about how I need to take lessons on how to be sociable–"

His face relaxing, Grissom nodded. "Oh. Everything okay up there?"

Sara searched his eyes. "Are you talking about Nick?"

Grissom gave her a half-shrug. "In general."

"Well, I think so. Nick's snoring, Warrick won't take off his headphones and Greg's plotting with Lindsey."

"And Catherine?"

"Sleeping with her mouth open."

Grissom's blue eyes widened. "Really?"

"Greg took a picture," she told him, taking a deep breath before continuing cautiously. "But, uh, yeah, Nick's having a good time. I think this is the happiest I've seen him since–" She stopped, wincing. "He's really looking forward to this, and I think it's the best thing for him."

"That's what Warrick thought too," Grissom quietly replied, remembering the day Warrick had suggested the trip. A few days before Nick had returned to work, he'd brought the idea to the team, and then he'd managed to work some sort of magic with Ecklie and the lab's director, insisting that a group vacation would help in Nick's recovery, as well as help the team reconnect with each other. The only stipulation had been that the other shifts received group vacation time as well. Of course Grissom wasn't thrilled at the idea of leaving work, but the recent events had put everything into perspective for him, and he felt like this was a _family_ vacation–and a fresh start.

Sara, who was still talking softly, pulled Grissom out of his thoughts. "At least we'll be able to keep him busy, keep his mind off everything for awhile–" she trailed off.

Grissom was about to reply when a flight attendant–the same one Greg had been bothering earlier–came down the aisle. She looked directly at Sara."Excuse me, ma'am, but the pilot has put the seatbelt sign on and you're going to have to take your seat."

"I'm on my way," Sara replied, eyeing the packages of pretzels in the flight attendant's hand. "If those are going where I think they're going, I don't mind taking them," she offered, choking back a laugh.

The flight attendant gave her a grateful look. "They are," she said, quickly depositing the packages into Sara's hand. "Thank-you!" Looking one hundred percent relieved, she hurried off.

"I take it Greg's enjoying the pretzels?" asked Grissom.

"Almost as much as the flight attendants," Sara replied wryly. And then, giving Grissom a small wave and a smile, she headed back up the aisle and down the other, reaching her seat just before the turbulence increased.

"You have pretzels!" Greg gleefully exclaimed.

Sara dropped them in his lap. "Why don't you save them, Greg? You've had at least ten of those already. You're not going to have any room for dinner," she said. But it was no use–he had already opened one of the packages and was crunching loudly. Shaking her head, Sara settled into her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. _A nap might be a good idea,_ she thought to herself, as her eyelids fluttered. _Yes, a nap. The first step to relaxation. I could try to rest for a few minutes. It might work. Everyone would be happy if I just let myself–_

And the next thing she knew, they were landing.

And Greg was still eating pretzels.

TBC


	2. On A Roll

"I'm not sure I can handle this," Grissom announced wryly. Pursing his lips, he looked away from the moving conveyer belt in front of him to eye his suitcase skeptically.

Brass rolled his eyes. "What can't you handle, Gil? Lifting it or parting with it again?"

"I want to know that my luggage is going to end up on the right ship, Jim. Is that unreasonable?"

"Entirely."

"Why?"

"Because this is where we were _told_ to bring our luggage. And I'm sure the people who told us to bring it here are completely knowledgeable, capable human beings. Have some faith in the process, my friend." Brass pointed at the speeding belt, where suitcases of all shapes and sizes whizzed along, passing the puzzled CSI and the impatient detective at a very quick pace before disappearing into a square hole in the wall. Brass smirked. "You know, if you look closely, you'll see that all these other bags are sporting the same lovely sticker we just put on _our_ suitcases. Feel better?"

"Slightly," Grissom replied, looking down to check his sticker again. The bright blue tag said his name, the ship's name, his room number and even what side of the ship his room was located on. _Very thorough,_ he thought to himself, and with a shrug, he turned to look at Brass. "So it'll be delivered to my room later?"

"If you ever put it on the damned belt it will be," Brass chuckled, as he loaded his own suitcase on. "You have to hand it over to get it back. And if you don't do it within the next ten seconds, _I_ will."

"Why can't I just take it on with me? That's what I don't understand," Grissom mumbled. "We'll be in our rooms in what, ten minutes? It doesn't make sense to have someone else bring my luggage on when I can take it with me and make sure it gets there."

"Oh come on, Gil. Stop analyzing. This is what we normal people like to call a luxury. You're literally giving someone else your baggage for a little while. _Enjoy_ it! You're not supposed to worry about these things on vacation."

"It just seems unnecessary."

"Well, I'm sure there's more than one reason for it," replied Brass. "Security probably tops the list. It's just like at the airport. Hey, look at this way–you already got your suitcase back once today, so you're on a roll!"

"Let's hope I go two for two."Looking completely unamused, Grissom reluctantly hoisted his heavy suitcase onto the luggage carousel. "There," he declared breathlessly, as he watched it disappear. "Now what?"

"_Now_ you follow me to the lounge and we meet up with everyone else. Do you have that nifty little swipe card they gave you at the desk?"

Grissom nodded, pulling it out of the small case that held his travel documents. "It's right here."

"Good, because that's your key and your charge card all in one. You'll need it and your passport to get on the ship."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?"

Brass patted his friend on the shoulder."Well, while you were daydreaming about the lab, I was busy listening to the girl at the check-in."

Grissom ignored that comment, falling in behind Brass as they made their way to the lounge. Once there, they found the rest of the team waiting patiently, with the exception of Greg who was fidgeting anxiously while trying to balance his carry-on bag on Lindsey's head.

Catherine waved her travel documents in the air to get Grissom and Brass' attention. "Hey! You finally made it!" she called out, as she watched them approach. "I hope you guys are ready to head onto the ship because another group of people just arrived from the airport and if we don't beat them on, we may be waiting for awhile."

Brass and Grissom both nodded.

"We need to beat them to the welcome aboard buffet!" exclaimed Greg. "We should probably go right there as soon as we get on!"

"_Or_ we can find our rooms and you can work on your last eighteen bags of pretzels,"spoke up Sara, who was slumped in a chair across from Nick and Warrick. "God, Greg. How do you even have _room_ for the buffet? Aren't you full?"

"No way. I have tons of room left,"Greg assured her. "Enough for the buffet _and_ for dinner."

"Hey, I'll go to the buffet with you!"exclaimed Lindsey. She peeked out from under Greg's bulky bag, her eyes shining. "I'm _starving_!"

Brass smirked, slipping past Greg and Lindsey with Grissom in tow. "Greg, how could you _not_ share your pretzels with such a nice girl?" he teased, giving Lindsey a wink.

Greg held up his hands. "She doesn't like them, I swear!"

"Yeah._ Ew_,"confirmed Lindsey. She shook her head in disgust and Greg's bag toppled off, landing in a heap on the ground. Her laughter filled the air.

And even Grissom smiled.

* * *

For someone who supposedly had the 'vacation allergy,' Sara was coping remarkably well. She'd had no problems with her luggage, she understood how her new swipe card worked, and she'd even managed to memorize where her room was located–thanks to a pamphlet containing the ship's deck plans. She was on a roll, as Brass would say. 

_Deck 9. Port side,_ she silently repeated, as she followed Grissom through the ship's lobby. She had been at his heels ever since the two of them had miraculously been squished together in the group's 'welcome aboard!' photo, which had been taken only a few minutes earlier. Pinned in between Grissom and Nick, Sara had found herself pressed up against her supervisor's chest, completely absorbed in the best moment of the trip so far.

"This thing really _is_ huge,"Sara whispered, as she scanned the large lobby. She looked up, her eyes following the swift ascent of one of several gleaming glass elevators, and she realized–to her secret amusement–that she could see all the way up to the top decks of the ship. The towering lobby–or centrum, as the pamphlet called it–was certainly impressive and Sara found herself in complete awe.

"Sara Sidle! Is that _astonishment_ I see on your face?"exclaimed Nick. He scooted over to her, grinning and looking more alive than he had in a really long time.

"It just might be, Nick," Sara admitted. She smiled broadly; the bright look on her friend's face was making her spirits soar. "I didn't expect it to be so...well,_ nice._"

He gave her arm a squeeze. "I'm glad, Sar. I'm glad you're impressed, I mean."

"Well, it's hard _not _to be impressed when you're surrounded by such beautiful artwork," she replied quietly, admiring the wonderful paintings near the elevators.

"Yeah, I heard there's artwork everywhere on this ship. Paintings, sculptures, photographs–you name it. It's all supposed to be _really_ expensive." Nick pressed the elevator 'up' button just before Greg could lunge in and do it. "'Rick and I are heading to deck 8," he said cheerfully, checking his documents for the room number before looking up at Sara. "What about you?"

"Deck 9. Port side,"she told him, her response well-rehearsed. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I'm looking forward to finding my room so I can lay down for a little while."

"Good," chuckled Nick. "You can say that all you want. I'm glad to hear it!"

"I shouldn't be tired though. I slept on the plane."

"Traveling will do that to ya, Sar." Nick told her gently. "Sometimes it's good to be tired. And it's good to give in and have a nap."

She sighed. "I never let myself do that."

"No kidding."

"You know what else you never let yourself do?" spoke up Greg.

"What? Eat lunch and then massive amounts of pretzels and then go to a buffet?" Sara rolled her eyes, laughing lightly. "Oh wait–I can't forget dinner. You're still planning on dinner too, right?"

"_And _dessert!"

Sara was busy trying to come up with a sarcastic reply when an elevator arrived. The glass doors slid open and everyone piled in.

Everyone except Grissom.

He was still standing in the lobby, staring at a particularly dramatic piece of artwork, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone else was in the elevator...waiting. With a soft, glowing smile, Sara held the door open for him, her eyes glued to his still form. She felt a wonderful warmth creep through her entire body when she realized that Grissom was doing exactly what she'd been doing moments earlier. He seemed to be absorbed in the beauty of the painting, lost in the colours, maybe even lost in his thoughts...

Catherine cleared her throat. "Gil!"

He spun around, shrugging. "What?"

"_Get in_."

With a sheepish look, he complied, dragging his heavy carry-on along until he was all the way in the elevator. Sara released the door and then she leaned back against the elevator wall. The lovely, warm moment was over and any lingering traces of it were soon dashed by Greg's hungry moans. He moaned incessantly, chattering on and on about the buffet all the way to deck nine, and all the way down the hall. He said the word 'buffet' so many times that Sara just had to stop listening. She retreated into her own little bubble, ignoring everything around her until she found her room. Once there, she slipped inside quickly. She dropped her bag on the floor and instantly fell onto the bed.

"God, yes!" she mumbled happily, as she stretched out across the burgundy and blue comforter. Her head fell back against the pillows and she closed her eyes, letting out a wonderfully long yawn. Minutes dissolved quickly and she let herself sink further and further into the comfort of the mattress, knowing very well that she didn't have the energy to do anything but thank the stars that she'd found her bed.

Apparently, someone did _not_ know that.

A knock on the door elicited a low grumble from Sara's exhausted body. She rolled over, gritting her teeth as she thought up ways to open the door without getting up. The heavy door locked automatically so yelling 'come in' was not an option. And ignoring it wasn't an option either, because if it was–by some miracle–Grissom on the other side, Sara would regret not opening the door for a year. It was very, very unlikely, but still...

"Coming," she called, as she dragged herself over to the door. She got her first real glimpse of her room as she stumbled along, noticing the television, the dresser and desk, the small couch, the sliding door to her own private balcony, and her small but sufficient bathroom. Her room was very tastefully decorated and again, Sara found herself impressed...and maybe even _delighted._

_I'm too tired to be delighted,_ Sara mumbled to herself, as she peered through the peephole. Her eyebrows narrowed in confusion when she saw nothing but a great big red blur on the other side of the door. _Who was wearing red?_ she wondered. _And who the hell stands that close to the peephole?_ Realizing that she knew the answer to her second question, Sara sighed, and she pulled open the heavy door.

"Hello, Greg."

Decked out in a big red life preserver, Greg Sanders grinned wildly."We're sinking!" he exclaimed."Head for the lifeboats! Women and children first! Every man for himself!"

"Ugh. More like every _woman_ for herself," Sara groaned, holding back a smile. "You know–that's not funny at all. Take that off. The lifeboat drill isn't until later and it's _not_ a joke."

"I'm just practicing."

"Don't."

"Oh, you always have to be so serious," Greg grumbled, as he pulled the life preserver off. "You know, I hope for your sake that we're assigned to the same lifeboat. It would be the best one, of course, with my party animal self."

"I'm pretty sure that _partying it up _is the _last_ thing we'd be doing in that lifeboat, Greggo." Sara eyed her friend carefully, noting the not-so-subtle look of desperation that was now clouding his expression."So, what's up? How come you're not running off to the buffet? Did Lindsey bail or something?"

"Catherine _made_ Lindsey bail," Greg muttered. "Said something about getting her set up in some kids program. And, I uh, I didn't want to go alone, so I decided to get settled in my room instead." He shrugged innocently, and then grinned again. "Guess what? We're neighbours!" He pointed to the room next door, raising his eyebrows comically.

Sara shook her head. "I didn't notice. But now I'm sure I'll never forget."

Greg smirked. "Good. Just to fill you in–Grissom's room is just down the hall, and Brass' is just past his. Catherine and Lindsey are in this hall too. And for some reason, Nicky and Warrick are down one deck. They decided to share a room. Guess it was a lot cheaper to do it that way." He gave her a wily wink. "We could have shared a room, Sara. How much fun would that have been?"

"Not fun at all."

"_Ouch._ That hurts."

"No, it doesn't. You're smiling."

"I'm smiling because that was just plain mean and I know how you can make it up to me."

Sara crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm _not_ going to the buffet, Greg."

"Come on. What else are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to lay down and relax, just like you keep telling me to. And then I just might go and explore the ship. I hear it's nice."

Greg tried to pout. "We have second-seating for dinner. That's not until 8:30! I won't make it until then!"

"Can you wait twenty minutes? I'm sure Lindsey will be back soon and then she can go with you. She seemed pretty happy about the idea."

"I thought I could wait," Greg whined in reply. "But then I found this channel on the tv that gives a tour of the ship and it showed the buffet! It's huge, Sara. Everything you could ever want just laid out in front of you! Tables and tables and tables of food! God, I can't wait to just grab my plate and stack it until it overflows and then dig in!"

Sara's eyes were wide. "I fear for the buffet, Greg. I honestly do."

He changed tactics."If you come with me, I'll help you find the library."

"That's a tempting offer, but–"

"Sara? Greg?" came a familiar voice.

Sara looked down the hall, her gaze immediately coming to rest on Grissom, who was approaching them quickly. He had a pamphlet tucked carefully under his arm and he held his swipe card in one hand and his glasses in the other. By the determined look on his face, he was on some sort of a mission.

He came to a stop in front of Sara's room, licking his lips anxiously. "Did you two know that there's going to be a 'Beaches, Botany and Bugs' seminar just before our first port of call?"

Sara smiled and Greg grimaced.

"Well, there is," Grissom continued. "I'm about to go and find out more. And I suggest that you think about doing the same. It sounds like it will be very rewarding." He stared directly at Sara for a moment; his blue eyes were shy but they sparkled. It was almost as if they were imploring her, encouraging her to go to the seminar with him. She started to wonder...

"Beaches, Botany and Bugs? Can I come and hang out for just the beach part?" Greg asked, his mind finally leaving the buffet. "What do they do? Tell you which beach is best? Do they actually discuss tropical bugs and plants? Could it really be worth sacrificing time at the pool?"

Grissom didn't reply. He was already gone, making his way down the hall to check out his exciting enrichment seminar. Sara was busy watching him disappear, her mind churning, interpreting. The brief, bright look he'd given her left her feeling warm again. And hopeful. _Very_ hopeful.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: Hello! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I'm working on the last, marathon chapter of Faithful Light and a few other stories. Updates for this story should come quickly from here on in. Thanks to all who read and reviewed the first chapter! GSR is on the way! 

Special thanks to **msgrits, DolphinAnimagus, Ghibli, DaVinci13, GSBS4L, spongebob, jtbwriter, Elialys, pesi, Lanta, sara kicks ass, Denese25, Nicola, Holly, Corinna McDonald, leddy, GunShotResidue, tarrabeena11, jbr12476, Ashleigh24** and everyone else who is reading this! Thank-you so much!

Jazz


	3. Entranced

Nick Stokes pulled his life preserver off and tossed it on his bed. "Well, it doesn't get better than this," he announced, smiling tiredly. "This ship is huge, it's hot outside, we get free movies in our room, _and_ there are enough lifeboats for everyone."

"I guess that means we can relax now," chuckled Warrick. He shoved his life preserver in the closet and then moved to put Nick's away.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on. Don't tell me you're gonna turn into a neat freak _this _week."

Smirking, Warrick grabbed the thick red vest."Course not. I just don't need to be reminded of the fact that this thing could actually sink."

"Ah. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Exactly."

"You're not nervous, are you?" Nick teased, as he flopped back onto his bed.

"Man, no way. I'm just glad the lifeboat drill is over. It's not exactly the best part of the cruise."

"Well, Greg seemed to enjoy it."

"Yes, but _Greg_ would manage to enjoy a sunburn on top of a sunburn. _And_ he had just come from the buffet. I don't think I've ever seen him happier."

"I don't think I've ever seen _anyone_ happier," replied Nick. Sighing contentedly, he leaned back against the pillows. "You know–I could fall asleep right now. We haven't even left yet and I'm completely relaxed."

Warrick grinned. "Like you said, it doesn't get better than this."

"I think I'm going to have to take that back. When we actually set sail, it's gonna get even better. I heard that they serve drinks and play music and throw confetti and stuff."

"Confetti?"

"Well, maybe not the confetti. But they do serve drinks and I'm pretty sure there's music."

Warrick shrugged. "Hey, there might be confetti. It could happen."

"Did they throw confetti on the Love Boat?"

"I really wouldn't know."

"Me either." Nick turned on his side and watched as Warrick slid open the door to their balcony and stepped outside. "Anything happening out there?"

"Nah. We're not moving yet," Warrick replied, as he leaned over the rail. "Damn, that's a long way down."

"Really? So no going out there drunk?"

"I'm not sure I'd recommend it. This rail is pretty high, but man, if you were drunk _enough_..."

"Good to know."

Warrick turned around and looked up, his gaze travelling along the side of the ship. "Hey–" he said, squinting. "Check this out, Nick."

Tired but very curious, Nick rolled across the bed, stood up slowly and then hobbled out onto the balcony. He followed Warrick's pointed finger, and to his amusement, he found himself looking up at a familiar face."I guess we know who's room is above ours,"he chuckled. Then, waving his arms, he shouted, "Hey Sar!"

"Yo, Sara!" Warrick called out. "Down here!"

Sara looked down, peering through her sporty sunglasses. Spotting them quickly, she waved back. "Hey!"

"Hey girl," shouted Warrick. "How's the view from up there?"

She smiled. "Pretty good. I can see water, water and more water, a little bit of Miami, and two very unattractive men."

Nick tried to scowl. "Funny, Sar."

Sara shook her head, laughing lightly. "Do you two know what time we're supposed to be leaving? I thought it was supposed to be right about now, but we don't seem to be moving..."

"I'm guessing we'll be heading out in the next few minutes or so," replied Warrick. "I think Nicky and I are going to head up to the top deck. Cath said that she and Brass were going to try to drag Grissom up there for the sail away party, and that alone would be something to see. Want to come?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll be able to see more of the ship. I haven't seen much of it yet."

"Greggo didn't con you into going to the buffet, did he?"

"No, thank God. He met up with Lindsey just as I was about to relent. They were there right up until the lifeboat drill and I'm pretty sure they went back right after it. I haven't seen Greg in an hour, which is a record for this trip."

"Did you take a nap?" asked Nick.

"Yeah, but it was brief. I ended up in the lobby for awhile, and I did some unpacking. But that's about it so far."

"Well let's go do something fun then," Nick said brightly. "'Rick and I will meet you outside your room in five."

"Sounds good!"

* * *

"There's an umbrella in my drink," Grissom said, staring down at his rather large alcoholic beverage. He pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and he wrinkled his nose, clearly pondering the purpose of the bright pink and green accessory. "My calculations may be off, but the production of these little umbrellas alone probably–" 

_Clink!_

Catherine's glass hit the side of Grissom's and he looked up to see her rolling her eyes. "Cheers, Gil" she said, with an amused smile. "Stop thinking and drink your damn drink before I finish mine and then drink yours for you." She hoisted her glass into the air and then took a substantial 'sip,' swallowing the liquid quickly.

"I shouldn't have let you order for me," Grissom grumbled, watching Catherine with pursed lips and wishing that she hadn't dragged him out of his room. He'd been _very_ happy with his coffee and his book and his private balcony, but now here he was, on the top deck of the ship, with a cold cocktail in his hand. "This just isn't _me_," he told her, gesturing toward the drink.

"Yeah, but none of this is _you_, Grissom," she replied, shrugging. "I have no problem drinking that for you. I just wanted to get you out of your room. You're not going to want to miss anything when we finally leave the port."

"I wasn't planning on missing anything. I paid for a room with a balcony for a reason, Catherine."

"And you're planning on hiding out there for the entire week, aren't you?"

"No. I have other things planned."

"Like what? Sleeping? Reading in the library? Ordering–" Catherine paused to take another 'sip' of her drink. "Ordering room service? Watching the tour of the ship on the TV in your room? Ignoring the phone every time we call to see if you want to join us at the pool?"

Grissom frowned. "For your information, I _am_ planning on leaving my room. I already left my room once this afternoon. Make that twice since I'm up here with you. Three times if you count the lifeboat drill."

Catherine was about to reply but Brass found them and he quickly jumped in. "Wow, Gil. You left your room? I'd clap for you, but I don't want to drop my drink," he said playfully. He held up his tall glass of beer. "Looks good, huh? It only took an hour in that line to get it. How the hell did you two get your drinks so fast?"

"_I_ got our drinks," Catherine told him, winking. "Nobody ever makes me wait."

"You bought him a drink but not me?" Brass pretended to be hurt. "Should I be taking that personally? Or has Gil already lost his charge card?"

"No and no," Catherine replied. "I figured that the only way I'd get him to drink something other than coffee would be to buy it for him. He hasn't even taken a sip yet."

"Well, at least the drink makes him _look_ like he's enjoying his vacation," teased Brass. "You know, the cute little umbrella and all..."

"Don't get him started on the umbrella, Jim."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," muttered Grissom. "I _am_ here and _yes,_ I'm holding a cocktail with an unnecessary umbrella in it, and _yes_ I am planning to do more than read on this trip, and _yes _I left my room earlier and I actually managed to see some of the ship."

Brass nodded in surprise and approval. "Good. Did you find an activity that will help you get rid of some of that frustration?"

Grissom hesitated. "I...I signed up for an enrichment seminar. Right before we stop at our first port of call..."

Catherine groaned. "Is that the 'Beaches, Botany and Bugs' thing Greg was telling me about?"

"Yes."

"_Grissom,_" Catherine sighed. "Well, at least you'll be spending time out of your room...and you'll have some company, so that's good."

"Greg signed up?"

"No. He was making gagging noises while he explained it to me. But I'm pretty sure Sara signed up for it. At least, that's what Greg told me. We didn't talk for long. He and Lindsey ran off to the buffet again...and I think they're still there."

Grissom licked his lips in thought, remaining silent. He was surprised; he had wanted Sara to sign up but he certainly hadn't expected her to. His mind went into instant overdrive...

"Speaking of Sara..." Brass said, pointing into the growing crowd. "My eyes may be deceiving me but she actually looks like she's having _fun._"

Grissom looked up, his eyes finding Sara quickly. An odd sense of delight swept through him as he watched her approach. The tall, glowing brunette was sandwiched in between Nick and Warrick, laughing up a storm. All three of them were holding drinks–with umbrellas–in their hands.

"Ah good," Brass said, as the three young CSIs came to a stop. "You decided to join us. And with cocktails no less."

"Wouldn't miss it," Nick replied. "Cheers, guys." He raised his glass and then took a sip, grinning when he noticed the drink in Grissom's hand. "Wow, Griss. You're goin' all out. I'm impressed."

"Be impressed when he stops complaining about it," Catherine said dryly.

"What's there to complain about, Grissom?" asked Warrick. "Looks pretty good to me. It even has a cocktail umbrella. You can't go wrong with a cocktail umbrella."

Grissom rolled his eyes and Catherine scowled, but neither of them said anything.

Brass ignored them both and smiled at Sara, who was sucking back large amounts of her slushy drink through a colourful straw. "Must be good," he noted. "Must be _very_ good."

Sara came up for air."It _is _good," she said, her voice full of surprise. She turned to Nick, who had ordered the drink for her. "What's in this?"

Nick chuckled. "Rum, Sara. There's a lot of rum in it."

"Yeah–yeah I can taste _that_," She winced, realizing that she should slow down. "And I think I'm also tasting vanilla. _A lot_ of vanilla. What's this called again?"

"The drink? Uh, I think it was Miami Mystery Madness, or something like that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's the drink of the day. They have a drink of the day...every day."

"No kidding."

As Sara chatted easily, Grissom silently studied the bright expression on her face, secretly loving the way her nose twitched in amusement, and the way her cheeks were turning crimson red–not from the sun, but from enjoyment, and quite possibly the alcohol...

"I'm thinking there's vanilla in here too," said Warrick, as he gestured toward his matching drink. "Vanilla and...banana?"

"Could be." Sara took another sip, nodding slowly. "Yep, there's _definitely_ banana in this."

"And we're_ definitely_ running late," Grissom announced, changing the subject and strategically ignoring the fact that Sara's hair looked so much lighter in the sunlight. _Stop looking,_ he told himself firmly. He knew it would be safer if he didn't admire her hair, or look at it at all, so he gazed down at his watch and cleared his throat. "We were supposed to leave a half an hour ago."

Brass smirked. "My, my, aren't we the anxious one. I thought you'd be happy to stay in port as long as possible. After all, as long as we're still here, you can still consider backing out at the last min–"

The detective was interrupted by a sudden, firm grip on his arm. "Don't give him ideas," Catherine warned, through clenched teeth and v_ery_ clenched fingers. "We're so close to getting him out of here."

"Oh, he'll be fine," Brass mumbled. "I'm just teasing. It's what I do."

"Yeah, well cut it out. At least until we surround him with water."

Grissom sighed. They were talking about him again, as if he wasn't even there...and it was really starting to piss him off. "Jim. Catherine. I'm right _here_. And I'm listening. Stop it."

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, but apparently, it was now her turn to be interrupted. A loud horn pierced the air, cutting her off mid-sentence. But she didn't mind. No, she didn't mind at all because it was the ship's horn, and that meant that Grissom was officially–and literally–on board for the trip. There would be no last minute mind-changing. Complaining, probably, but no backing out.

They were leaving for seven days and Grissom was going with them.

Period.

* * *

The breeze was warm and soft against Sara's skin. 

She leaned against the rail, watching the water swirl below as they sailed along. Miami was nothing but a small dot now, a tiny piece of brown land in a world of blue. It was fading fast, like the sunlight and the stress that knotted Sara's mind and body. She was _really_ starting to relax, and no one was more surprised about that than she was.

_I planned to be miserable for at least one full day,_ Sara mused, chuckling lightly to herself._ I have an image to protect! Workaholic Sara! Nobody knows me as anything else than that, really. Including me._ She smiled, realizing that maybe she could be something else too...at least for a little while. Then, her eyes widened; the salt in the air and the clear, vast horizon were already starting to brainwash her!

She was completely lost in the seascape–so lost that she barely noticed the timid fingertips on her shoulder. They were just _there_, suddenly, and Sara whirled around to find herself face to face with Grissom, who was still holding his untouched cocktail in one hand.

His eyes widened and he withdrew his hand quickly, as if she had shocked him physically instead of mentally. "Sorry," he said, shrugging off her questioning look. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Sara bit her lip. "You didn't. I was just...uh, entranced, I guess."

"Entranced? Oh." He looked out at the water, smiling lightly. The ocean was, indeed, captivating, but he didn't allow himself to become _entranced_. Letting out a gentle sigh, he turned back to Sara. "You, uh, you had confetti on your shoulder," he told her. "From when we left..."

_Confetti?_ Sara's heart thumped in her chest. _Oh yeah..._

"Um...thanks." She slowly reached up to brush where Grissom's fingers had been, and shyly, she looked around, noticing that there was confetti on everything and almost everyone. The sail away party was still going on, but she had forgotten about it. She'd been in her own little world for awhile now.

Grissom seemed to be in his own little world too...thinking. He was looking at her, but she could tell that he was processing _something_ in his mind. She didn't dare make any guesses.

"Catherine told me that you signed up for the seminar," he said, casually making conversation.

Sara nodded. "'Beaches, Botany and Bugs?'Yeah. I did. You were right–it sounds like it will be very...rewarding."

"Yes." Grissom tipped his head to one side. "I was, uh, I was thinking about signing up for another one too. It's right before we stop in..." He paused. "It's, um, before we stop in Cozumel. It's all about the Mexican climate and its effects on wildlife."

"Does that one have a catchy name too?"

"No. It's called 'The Climate and Wildlife of Mexico.'"

Sara pursed her lips. "Oh well, then I'm out," she joked. "No creativity equals no interest."

Grissom chuckled quietly. "Keep it in mind anyway."

Sara thought she heard a hint of hope in Grissom's voice, but then again, it could have been her mind playing tricks on her."I will," she promised, as she tried to ignore the warm, tingly feeling in her knees. "We'll see how the first one goes."

"That sounds good," Grissom replied, turning away from her. He looked out at the ocean again, and just when he was about to blame the ship for the sudden queasy feeling in his stomach, he noticed that the water was perfectly calm.

Sara studied the odd look on his face. "You okay?" she asked, taking a step closer to him.

"I'm fine," he quickly replied. "I'm just...entranced."

Sara grinned while Grissom mentally slapped himself. He wanted to spend time with her, but he couldn't seem to do it without some sort of an educational excuse. Inviting her to attend seminars with him seemed safe and appropriate. If only he could just open his mouth and invite her to spend some _real_ time with him...

Before anything else could be said, Greg appeared beside Sara, and Lindsey poked her head out from behind Grissom.

"Ahoy matey's!" Greg exclaimed, his eyes dancing. "I am pleased to announce that the buffet has officially been conquered!" He reached in front of Sara to give Lindsey a thumbs up.

"Um...congratulations." Sara grimaced. "Is there any food left?"

Lindsey looked genuinely amazed. "Tons! They just kept bringing out more and more of it!"

"You two should really go," Greg said, looking back and forth between his two mentors. "It's busy in there, but I'm sure I could get you a table. The buffet crew already know me by name."

Lindsey snickered. "Yeah–they call him _Mr. Sanders!"_

Sara considered going to the buffet with Grissom. She wasn't hungry, but she would never object to spending time alone with him, even if it didn't really mean anything. She was about to try to catch his eye when Catherine and Warrick joined them, laughing loudly.

The laughter stopped when Catherine saw that Grissom still had his drink. She finally took it out of his hand, sighing in exasperation. "That's it," she declared. "I'm not letting you carry this around for the whole week. I'm drinking it."

And she did. Or at least she _started_ to.

Then, she wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Hey! I was beginning to wonder where you and Greg got to," she said, dropping a kiss on Lindsey's blonde head.

"We were _conquering_ the buffet, Mom!"

"You were there all this time?"

Lindsey nodded enthusiastically and then held up a fancy drink. "Look what Greg bought me."

Catherine looked at the drink and then gave Greg a stony look. "That better be a Shirley Temple."

"It is, it is," Greg replied, throwing up his hands to shield himself. "Don't worry, Cath."

Grissom and Sara exchanged a slight smile, both of them observing the conversation, but not really paying attention to it. They were both still analyzing the words they had exchanged moments earlier, silently searching for the meanings behind them. It was an all too familiar search, for both of them, but the soft smiles and the smell of the ocean made it easier somehow.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoyed chapter three! Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters. I really appreciate it. I would also like to thank microgirl for inspiring me to get back into this story. Thanks for the ideas :) 

Jazz


	4. Improvisation

Grissom had to admit it–dinner was impressive. His steak was grilled to perfection, his vegetables were hot, with just the right amount of spice, and the service was wonderful. The waiters were particularly friendly, and Grissom had quickly realized that he could order whatever he wanted and it would be brought right to him, no questions asked. Even if he had asked for the salmon with a side of crunchy peanut butter, the waiter would have nodded and then rushed off to get it. Not that he would ask for that; if anyone could possibly want fish and peanut butter, it would be Greg Sanders. And even that was unlikely.

At least, Grissom _thought_ it was.

He sighed, half-hiding behind his dessert menu. As he scanned the long list of choices, he pulled at his tie, wishing that he hadn't been forced to dress up for dinner, but understanding why. The moment he'd walked into the main dining room he'd realized why there was such a strict evening dress code. His dress shirt and tie seemed almost too casual for the elegantly decorated dining room, and although Grissom dreaded the two nights he would be required to wear a tux to dinner, he knew that it would feel more appropriate.

He would also feel better when he didn't begin dinner with a brief period of clueless wandering. After an hour of seriously considering room service, he had decided to meet the rest of the group in the large dining room. Unfortunately, he had gotten himself completely lost in tables, chairs and hungry cruisers, and it had taken him a good twenty minutes to find his colleagues. Greg was _still_ laughing about it, but at least now he was trying to cover it up.

"So what are you gonna have, Grissom?" Greg asked cheerfully. "Cake? Mousse? Pie? Truffles? Ice cream? _Sherbert?_"

Grissom sighed. "I'm full, Greg. Unlike you, my digestive system can't tolerate large amounts of food."

"But all of it looks so good, Grissom. Come on. Indulge."

"Not tonight. I'll save some room for dessert tomorrow."

On the other side of the round table, Nick chuckled. "What are _you_ having, Greggo? Everything?"

Greg smirked. "No. I'm only gonna pick a couple. The Chocolate Supreme is sounding really good, and the Coconut Creme pie might be good with it. Or maybe I'll go with the Fudge Fantasy and the Strawberry Shortcake. Decisions, decisions." He leaned back in his seat, contemplating.

"I think he'll go with the Chocolate Supreme and the Coconut Creme," spoke up Sara. "Just because it rhymes."

"I think he'll go for the Fudge Fantasy and the Strawberry Shortcake," countered Warrick. "Just because it sounds good."

"And I'm thinking he'll go for Lindsey a la mode," Brass declared. He was staring at Greg, who had already finished contemplating and was now poking a sleepy Lindsey with his fork.

"I'm awake..." Lindsey mumbled, her eyes barely open. "I am...I'm just...resting my eyes."

"You almost did a face plant in your main course," Greg teased. "You're _not _awake, Miss Willows."

"Yes, I am...I heard what you were talking about...get the Fudge Fantasy."

"And the Strawberry Shortcake?"

She yawned. "Nope...Coconut Creme pie."

"I'm not sure I can choose." Greg licked his lips. "Maybe I'll just get all of them."

"...Cool..."

Catherine reached over to her daughter, rubbing her back. "Come on, Linds. I'll walk you to the room." She stood up, helping Lindsey do the same, even though the young teen was mumbling something about being old enough to stay up under her breath. Her drooping eyelids did nothing to back up her muffled claim...and she knew it.

"Night everyone," Lindsey said, giving in. "Buffet...for...breakfast, Greg?"

"Of course!" Greg patted her arm as she hobbled past him. "Sleep well."

"Thanks." She gave him a tired smile, and by the look in her eyes, she really didn't think much of going to dinner at eight-thirty. It was now ten o'clock, and it had been a very long day. "I don't think I've...ever been this tired," she sighed.

"Then lets get you to bed, sweetie," Catherine said gently. She turned and called over her shoulder, "Nicky, Warrick–I'll meet you in the lobby at eleven." And then she and Lindsey left the table.

"Lobby at eleven?" Greg eyed Nick and Warrick curiously. "What are you guys doing tonight? And why didn't you ask me to hang out with you?" He tried to make his chin tremble, just so it would look like they had actually hurt his feelings.

"We don't know what we're doing," Nick replied."We were talking earlier and we wanted to meet up and do _something._ We haven't had a chance to talk to you about it yet."

"Well, go ahead. Invite me now."

Warrick let out a wry chuckle. "Okay, Greggo, would you like to hang out with us?"

"No."

"What?"

Greg shook his head. "No," he repeated.

"Okay...what are you gonna do then?"

"I was planning on hanging out with Sara tonight. We don't know what we're doing yet either. Maybe we'll go up to the arcade and play a little air hockey, huh Sar?"

Sara's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "You. Me. Air hockey. Come on, it'll be great."

"Um...really?" Sara winced, her mind spinning, searching for a believable excuse. "I, uh, I was thinking of–"

Grissom–who dared to notice how radiant Sara looked in her flattering black dress–cleared his throat. He couldn't suppress the sudden urge to come to her rescue. "Actually, Greg," he said, interrupting softly."Sara's going to...show me where the library is. I wasn't able to find it earlier, so she, uh, she offered to help me find it after dinner."

Sara instantly turned bright red. She eyed Grissom in surprise...and carefully concealed delight."Um, yeah..." she said, playing along. "I _did_ tell Grissom I would help him out...sorry, Greg."

The youngest CSI nodded. "That's cool. No problemo. That'll only take like ten minutes. Then we can go to the arcade! Of course, you're invited too, Grissom. And you too, Brass. But, uh, Nicky and Warrick...since you already have plans..."

"I'm, uh, I'm going to need Sara for more than ten minutes," Grissom continued, his words making Sara's heart flutter nervously. "I'm assuming that this library will, at least, have a good selection of Shakespeare, and...uh...when Sara and I were working on the Calehill case last week, I was explaining how Shakespeare can be extremely relevant to forensics. Since we're going to be in the library...I was going to show her the scene I was quoting from...and then we were going to discuss its similarities to the case."

Jim Brass frowned. "This is a cruise ship. Why would a cruise ship have Shakespearean plays?"

"This ship has a library. And almost all libraries have Shakespeare."

Sara bit her lip; she couldn't believe Grissom was actually making all of this up for her, just so she could have a breather from Greg. She couldn't believe that he was even aware that she needed a break from her buffet-loving friend.

Greg pursed his lips. "The Calehill case...I remember you two working that." He lowered his voice. "The daughters who were fighting over their father's assets. They forced him to give them everything and then they left him out to dry...in the desert." He sighed, eyeing Sara suspiciously. "So, Sara, which play _was_ Grissom quoting from?"

Sara wanted to laugh; she could actually answer that. "King Lear," she replied, without missing a beat.

Greg groaned."Okay, okay. Have fun at the library. I'll hang out with Brass." He looked over at the detective with hopeful eyes. "Arcade?"

"Sorry, no can do, Sanders," Brass said, standing up. "I'm about as baked as Lindsey right now. I'm hauling my old ass to bed."

"So I'm all alone? Nobody wants to party with the Grand Party Master?"

"Um, earth to the Grand Party Master," Nick said, giving him a little wave. "_We _want to party with you."

Warrick clearly agreed. "Yeah, man, you never needed an invitation to hang out with us. _We _didn't even know we were hanging out with us. The arcade sounds good, Bro."

Greg tried to snivel, but ended up smiling a second later. "Okay, but what about Cath?"

"We'll meet her at eleven and then...we'll see. If we hit the arcade right after dessert, we'll at least get a couple games in."

"Excellent."

Brass grinned. "Well all you kiddies have fun tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He turned to Grissom. "Gil, just so you know, tomorrow I'm going to make it my personal mission to make sure you do absolutely nothing that is work related. We have the whole day at sea, and if I hear one thing about Shakespearean plays, their relevance to forensics, or the library, I may actually toss you overboard. Goodnight."

And with that, he left.

Nick, Warrick and Greg stayed for dessert and then they also took off, all of them claiming that they were really good at air hockey. Greg was still chewing the last bites of his Fudge Fantasy–which he had finally decided on, after miraculously coming to the conclusion that he should only order one dessert–when he left the table. All three of the arcade-bound CSIs seemed oblivious to the fact that they were leaving Grissom and Sara alone...together.

Sara took a sip of her tea, smiling shyly as she broke the ice. "Thank-you, Grissom," she said softly. "Thanks for...saving me from Greg. I...don't think I would have been able to take much more of him tonight, and I...I didn't want to hurt his feelings and say no again. Seems like I've been trying to say no to him all day. "

Grissom nodded, and he smiled back, just as shyly. "I'm glad I could help."

"Me too." Sara laughed lightly. "You know, that was pretty convincing. I didn't know you were...good at improvisation."

Grissom wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and he tried to take a few deep breaths. "Well, it wasn't _all_ improvisation," he admitted quietly. "I...I was already planning on asking you to help me find the library. And I _did_ refer to King Lear on the Calehill case...although I don't remember telling you that it was, in fact, King Lear, so you should know that I'm...impressed that you recognized it."

"Thanks." Sara blushed at his praise _and_ at the fact that he really did want her to help him. She had been pretty sure that he'd been making all of it up."You really haven't found the library yet?" she asked. "I thought that would be the first you place you'd go."

"So did I."

"What stopped you?"

"The ship." He hesitated. "I...I really had no idea that it was going to be this big. It's so big that I'm thankful every time I find the elevators."

"Oh, I'm thankful for that too," Sara assured him. "I think everyone is."

"Everyone might be," he agreed. "But I'm...not used to this. I'm not very good at...not knowing."

"I can understand that," Sara said gently, her eyes finding his. As she gazed at him, she suddenly realized just how out-of-his-element he was. The idea of Grissom on vacation was strange enough, but to actually _see_ him surrounded by unfamiliarity was so...indescribable. He was the same person, and yet he was so different. He wasn't surrounded by yellow tape and lab equipment, and for once, he didn't know all the answers. He was even admitting that he felt vulnerable...to _her._

He took another sip of his coffee. "At least I know where the lobby is. That's encouraging."

"Right–you managed to find out about the seminars." Sara licked her lips. "You found your way around then..."

"Yes, but the lobby is easy to find. Centre of the ship." He stopped, and then in a very surprising move, he winked at her. "I'll...I'll figure it all out eventually."

Sara was glowing now."You will. In a day or two, we'll all know where everything is."

"Patience_ is_ a virtue."

"So I hear."

Hoping to avoid an awkward silence, Grissom looked at his watch. "Should we...head to the library?"

"Yeah." Sara quickly drank the rest of her tea. "But..."

"But?"

She smiled faintly. "I don't know where it is, Griss. I haven't been able to find it either."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess we'll be consulting the deck plans then. That is, uh, if you're interested in going...with me...anyway." He cringed, hoping to God that he didn't sound as desperate and idiotic as he thought he did.

Sara didn't seem to think so.

"I...I would like that," she said, as she stood up and reached into her purse. "And I think I have the deck plans right here..."

* * *

Grissom and Sara were very surprised to find out that the library was on Deck 9, right down the hall from their rooms. It seemed so fitting that it was located there, and even though it was very small, it was cozy, and it had a complete collection of Shakespearean plays and poetry. It also had exactly one book about entomology, and even though Grissom had already read it several times, he couldn't resist making himself comfortable and flipping through the pages. It made him feel more at _home._

He must have lost himself in the familiar text, because the next thing he knew, an hour and a half had passed and Sara had become very quiet on the other couch. He looked up from his book to discover that she was asleep. Her head was resting against one of the cushions, and the book she had been reading had fallen into her lap, her fingers still keeping her page. She was sleeping so quietly, so delicately, and he found himself staring at her with a pounding heart and a mind that was frantically trying to decide on what he should do.

Should he wake her and help her back to her room?

Or should he let her sleep and keep her close to him, for just a little while longer?

He _could_ wait a little bit a longer before waking her, he realized. He knew it was selfish, but he really did want to keep her there. He wanted to keep on stealing glances and wishing and wondering. After all, she would never know...

Unless she opened her eyes suddenly and caught him.

Grissom took a deep breath, and after taking a moment to memorize the peaceful picture in front of him, he moved over to Sara, ready to do the right thing. She was clearly exhausted and he knew that she needed to be in her bed, not on the couch in the library.

So, with reluctance, he hovered over her and he began to rub her arm. "Sara?"

"Hmmmm?" Her eyelids fluttered and she sighed. "...Sleep."

Timidly, Grissom reached for her hand and pulled it away from the book. "Sara? I know you're asleep. We have to get you to your room, honey."

"Mmmmm. Tired."

"That's okay. Come on, I'll help you..."

With another soft mumble, Sara opened her eyes slowly and she studied his face, wondering why he was so close to her. "Grissom?"

"Hi..." He took the book from her lap and set on the table next to the couch. Then, feeling very awkward, he began to help her up. "You fell asleep," he explained, as she stood carefully. "I...didn't notice until now."

"I...I fell asleep?" Sara continued to struggle with her eyelids. "But...I was only on page five."

"That's okay. It's been a long day, Sara," Grissom replied, his voice very soft. "You're exhausted."

"No...I'm not...I'm never...exhausted. I'm just...tired."

Grissom chuckled gently, and fighting back nerves, he wrapped a steadying arm around Sara's shoulders. "It's okay to be tired," he said, as he helped her out of the library and into the hallway. "It's perfectly natural."

Sara sighed. "But I...never...sleep."

"I know."

"I never...ever...ever...sleep."

Grissom smiled to himself. This semi-conscious Sara Sidle was completely adorable. "You'll sleep tonight," he told her, as he continued to guide her along. "I'm sure you'll sleep better than you have in a long time."

She looked up at him, eyes half-open and hopeful. "Promise?"

"Well...the movement of the ship should help," he said warmly. "It's barely noticeable right now, but when you lay down, you'll probably feel the sway. You might even feel like you're being rocked to sleep."

Sara bit her lip. "That...would be good. I never thought...of that. Probably because I...never...thought I'd ever be on a...cruise ship." She yawned and closed her eyes again for a moment. "Wow...can't...keep them...open."

Grissom battled weak knees as he wrapped his other arm around Sara's waist, bringing her to a stop in front of her room."Uh...Sara...is your key in your purse?"

She nodded, her eyes staying closed. "Yeah..." With one hand, she searched inside her small black handbag. "Yeah...here it is." She held it up and Grissom took it, sliding the card into the slot in the doorhandle. He waited for the green light and the small click before pushing the door open.

"Are you okay from here?" he asked carefully, as Sara wandered into her room. He wasn't sure what he wanted her to say in reply, but he did know that he wanted to make sure she actually made it to her bed.

"I'm okay," she replied, her whole body leaning against the door to keep it open. "Thank-you, Griss. I...I guess I am...exhausted."

"I think we all are, Sara."

"Yeah." She smiled softly. "Well...thanks again...especially for the improvisation."

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm...very grateful."

"I know you are," he whispered. "Now go to bed."

Sara gave him a sleepy grin and then let the door slide. "Night, Griss," she whispered back. "Get...some...sleep."

"I will. Goodnight, Sara."

And with that, the door closed.

And Grissom found himself wishing that he was on the other side of it.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: Thank-you so much for all the reviews. I'm sorry I wasn't able to send out individual replies to reviews for chapter three, but please know that the feedback is always appreciated and I will be back on track with the replies for this chapter! Hope you enjoyed chapter four! 

Thanks!

Jazz


	5. Fresh Air

Grissom was right.

Sara managed to get the best–and the most–sleep she'd had in a _very_ long time.

She opened her eyes in the morning to find the sun shining into her room, the bright light making patterns of all shapes and sizes on her wall. Nine hours had passed since she and Grissom said goodnight to each other, and she couldn't remember any of them. If she had tossed or turned or consulted her alarm clock at all during those hours, she wasn't aware of it. She'd been sleeping so deeply and so gratefully that Greg could have been pounding on her door and singing loudly about endless buffet tables...and she wouldn't have known. She smiled at the thought and then she climbed out of bed, anxious for the first time in what seemed like forever to start her day.

Her relaxing morning began with a little bit of room service and a good hour of soaking up the sun on her balcony. She sipped tea and munched on her fruit cocktail, listening to the waves and wondering why she'd allowed herself to miss out on so many tranquil moments. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken time to just sit and enjoy the sunshine. She was pretty sure that she'd _never_ done it before, but she didn't want to admit that to herself.

So, as she left her room and embarked on a morning stroll, she tried to convince herself that she _did_ have at least some experience in the relaxation department. She was searching for memories of lounge chairs and sunglasses when she came to a stop at the end of the hall...right outside the library.

She froze, listening closely.

A familiar voice was drifting through the air, echoing in Sara's ears. Taking a deep breath, she peered into the open space and stifled a laugh when she saw Grissom–and a clearly annoyed Lindsey–on the couch. Grissom was immersed in a book, just like the night before, and Lindsey was fidgeting as he read aloud to her. She obviously wasn't interested in the life cycle of ladybugs.

Sara cleared her throat and Lindsey immediately met her gaze, eyes wide, begging. "Hey! Sara!"

Grissom immediately pulled his nose out of his book.

"Good morning," Sara said softly, as she wandered into the small room. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Grissom shook his head quickly, a faint smile on his lips. "No. Not at all," he called to her.

"You're _definitely_ not interrupting," Lindsey muttered. She got up rapidly and then crept toward Sara with a mortified look on her face. "Get me out of here," she hissed, desperation ringing in her hushed voice. "_Please _get me out of here."

Sara chuckled. "Why don't you just leave?" she whispered back.

"I'm waiting for Greg."

"Where is he?"

Lindsey shrugged. "Getting dressed I think. Mom and Jim went to the dining room for breakfast and Uncle Gil didn't want to go with them, so they told me I had to keep an eye on him until Greg was ready to go to the buffet." Her voice became even quieter. "I was supposed to keep him out of here and take him to the pool or something, but I'm a _kid._" She grimaced, making a subtle gesture at Grissom. "How am I supposed to stand a chance against _that?_ He's more obsessed than I thought...someone really needs to tell him that bugs suck."

Sara patted the innocent girl's shoulder. "Ah, Lindsey. I'm afraid that would break his heart."

"Will you try to get him out of here for me? And tell my Mom that he was never in here?"

"Sure. I'll do my best."

Lindsey lit up. "Really? Thanks!"

"No problem. Hey–go knock on Greg's door and tell him to get a move on. He's probably in there spiking his hair. I'm sure he lost track of time."

Grinning, Lindsey trotted out of the room. "I like his spiky hair," she said, waving over her shoulder. "Thanks, Sara!"

Sara walked over to Grissom and then took the seat across from him. "I think Lindsey's hungry," she said, offering up some sort of an explanation.

"Is that what that was all about?" Grissom asked. He closed his book and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "And here I thought it had something to do with learning about ladybugs."

Sara blushed. "Maybe a little bit."

"That's too bad. I was just getting to the interesting part. There's even some photographs on the next few pages."

"I'm sure she'll be interested in hearing all about ladybugs another time. She's in vacation mode and it's time for breakfast," Sara reminded him. "Right now, she'd rather feed her stomach than her mind."

Grissom sighed. "Well...I can't say I blame her."

She let out a breath. "Have...have you eaten yet?"

"No. Not yet. Believe it or not, I was actually thinking about going to the buffet." He paused, searching Sara's brown eyes. "Have you...eaten yet?"

She nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "I–I ordered room service. Tea and some fruit cocktail." She shrugged. "It was good."

"Oh...good." He managed a half-smile. It was tempting to think that he looked disappointed, but Sara wasn't sure if she should let her mind go there.

"I slept really well last night," she told him, changing the subject. "It happened very fast but I felt like I was being rocked to sleep, just like you said. I managed to sleep for nine hours. That's a record for me."

Grissom looked very pleased. "I'm glad to hear that, Sara. You needed it."

"Yeah," she agreed. "By the time the cruise is over, I should be pretty well rested. I'll be ready to tackle all those doubles."

"You've been able to pull doubles on no sleep at all," Grissom pointed out. "So just so we're straight–I do _not_ want to see you pull anything _more_ than a double when we get back."

Sara gave him a playful glare. "So you don't think I could pull a quadruple? I'm sure I could. I'm sure I already have at one point or another."

"I'm sure you have too."

He became serious then, as he set his book down on the table next to him. Sara watched as he stood up and she waited for him to say something else about her unhealthy work habits...but he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and tipped his head to the side, as if he were deep in thought.

"Sara...would you..." He paused for a moment, gathering confidence. "Would you like to take a walk?"

Clearly surprised, she stared at him for a long moment, looking slightly hesitant. She wasn't going to have to force him out of the library after all! She was downright shocked...for more than one reason.

"Sure..." she breathed. "Um, yeah...that would be...that would be nice, Grissom. But what about your breakfast?"

"I can get something after. I'm okay."

"You sure? I don't mind waiting."

"I'm fine," he replied. "I would rather take a walk."

She stood up, studying his nervous expression and wondering if his invitation really could mean something. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that he'd asked her to join him. That was a record Sara never expected him to set.

"There's a running track up on the top deck," Grissom said, as they made their way out into the hall and over to the elevators. "We could walk up there if it's not too busy. The fresh air would be nice."

"Okay." Sara licked her lips. "But I...uh, I thought you preferred getting fresh air on your balcony."

"I already did that this morning. I enjoyed it, but...I think I might enjoy the top deck too."

Sara smiled warmly, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm glad you're willing to try it out," she said softly. "Catherine and Brass will be pleased. And Lindsey will be relieved that you left the library."

"Lindsey wanted me to go swimming," he sighed. "That's something I'm _not_ willing to try out."

Sara pressed the elevator call button. "Why not? You know how to swim." She grinned. "But you didn't bring swim trunks, did you?"

"Of course I didn't."

An elevator arrived and Grissom and Sara stepped in. Grissom pressed the button for the Sports deck and Sara tried to calm herself down as the doors closed, shutting them into the small glass space. They were alone together again, and both of them were obviously feeling awkward about it. But something felt very right about it too.

Sara decided to take a chance, despite her history of over-talking."Griss, am I getting the wrong idea here?" she blurted out, her voice small and strained. "I...I don't want to complicate things even further than they already are, but I really need to know why...why we're doing this."

"Doing what? Going for a walk?"

"Grissom."

He heard the confusion in her voice and the need for an answer. He knew very well that she deserved an answer, but he wasn't sure if he _had_ one.

"I, uh, I don't know why," he said, being as gentle and careful as possible. "I just thought that we could...take a walk and get some fresh air."

Grissom sighed; it couldn't be that simple and he knew it. He knew that she knew it too, because nothing was ever that simple between them.

"We never take walks," Sara whispered. "We did a long time ago, but we don't do that now."

He hadn't forgotten that little fact. "I know. I'm trying to change that, Sara."

"Is there...a reason?"

"I..."

Before he could reply, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Sara and Grissom walked out, heading through a revolving door to the track outside. Just before they came to it, they paused and exchanged an uncertain glance.

"What were you going to say, Griss?" Sara asked, her heart pounding in her ears.

Grissom took a deep breath. "I'd...I'd really like for us to spend some time together this week, Sara," he said slowly. "I know I have a habit of not making things very easy, so I understand if you don't want to–"

"I want to," Sara assured him. "I do. I'm just...worried that I'm...misunderstanding this."

He touched her arm for a second, fingers trembling. "Don't worry," was all he said.

But it was enough.

He sounded puzzled and shy and hoarse and kind when he said it, and even though Sara still didn't know what all of this meant, she felt lighter than a feather as they began to walk the deck.

Fresh air could easily become an addiction.

* * *

Catherine looked over at Brass, wondering why the detective had suddenly clamped his hands over his face. A second ago, she'd been busy describing how she had gone bar-hopping with Nick, Warrick and Greg the night before, and now she was silent and searching for words. Brass looked about ready to duck under the table and she was very curious. 

"I can still see you," she reported. "So if you're trying to hide, you're doing a really lousy job."

Very carefully, Brass dropped one hand and proceeded to glare at her. "I _am_ trying to hide."

"Well...you're doing a _really lousy job_."

"Thank-you, Catherine."

She reached over and pulled Brass' other hand away. "Oh, stop it. You look ridiculous."

"Small price to pay."

"Okay...what's going on?"

Being as discrete as possible, Brass nodded toward the table behind Catherine, where two women were getting settled in their seats and talking loudly. "It's Linda and Ellen," he grumbled. "They're here. On this ship. In this dining room. Right behind you. I don't want them to see me."

Catherine looked at him blankly. "I would give you some sort of a reaction, but I have no idea who Linda and Ellen are."

He sighed through gritted teeth. "They sat behind Gil and I on the plane."

"Oh, really? And it wasn't a pleasant experience, I take it?"

"Hell no. You hear them right now, don't you?"

"Yeah..."

"They were even louder on the plane. I know their life stories...including things you would never want to know about anybody!"

"Well then how did you forget that they were on this cruise? I'm sure they would have mentioned it. _Loudly._"

Brass twitched uncomfortably. "They said something about a cruise, but I made myself believe that they'd be going on another ship." He covered his face again.

"It was that painful, huh?" Catherine laughed and then took a bite of her toast. She chewed, swallowed, and then added, "Do you really think they'd recognize you?"

"Oh, come on. A handsome face like this?"

Catherine smirked. "I can't see your 'handsome' face right now."

Brass shook his head, peeking through his fingers. "I don't care. We need to leave."

"But I'm not done my toast."

"Hurry then, because if they start talking to me, they're gonna ask me to spend the day with them."

"Wow. You sure think a lot of yourself this morning, Jim." She took another bite, slipping into teasing mode. "So did you even _talk_ to them on the plane? Or did you just give them a few seductive glances?"

"Give _them _sed-seductive glances?" he stammered. "Are you kidding?"

"Maybe."

"They were hitting on_ me_, Catherine. It was all them. Gil was sleeping off a headache that they caused when they started 'accidentally' losing things under my seat."

"Did you _fetch_, Jim?"

"Hilarious."

She grinned. "Are you sure you didn't enjoy it at all?"

"I'm sure. I talked to them for a few minutes, and I definitely didn't enjoy any of it."

"You're really sure? This could be good for you, you know. Two interested women and six more days of vacation...sounds pretty good to me. Spending the day with them might be just what you need."

"Catherine...I'd rather spend the day locked in a closet with Sanders."

Pushing that disturbing image out of her mind, Catherine stood up and gestured for Brass to do the same. "Okay, okay. Point taken. Let's go."

"Finally. Okay–let's do this quickly."

"Alright, I'll go first and you walk behind me."

Giving Catherine a grateful pat on the shoulder, Jim slipped in behind her and used her as a shield until they were all the way out of the dining room.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed Chapter 5! Thanks for reading and for all the reviews! 

Jazz


	6. Progress

Sara wasn't sure how she and Grissom ended up in matching lounge chairs. She knew it had something to do with their four hour stroll and Nick and Warrick's one-on-one basketball game, but she couldn't believe that Grissom was comfortable enough to just lie next to her and chat. She had no idea_ how_ he was still there with her. The Grissom she knew would have disappeared into seclusion by now. He would have walked with her for maybe twenty minutes before making an excuse to return to his room and avoid her for the rest of the day. But this casual, almost-comfortable, talkative, lounging Grissom was doing the exact opposite. In fact, he'd spent the entire morning making attempt after attempt to _prolong_ their walk.

Those attempts were very successful.

After six laps around the sports track, five laps around the outdoor promenade on Deck 4, and a visit to the art gallery, Grissom had suggested that they go for tea. And after they'd each had two cups of herbal tea and a raspberry danish, they'd proceeded to the sports deck again, where they'd completed another six laps. Then, Grissom had suggested that they do a few _more _laps.

Sara could have done a thousand more.

She could have walked forever with _this_ Grissom, this Grissom who was both new and old. He'd been talking to her with such warmth, with such kindness–just like old times back in California, just like her first year in Vegas, just like nothing had ever driven them apart. He'd done everything he could to keep them together all morning. He'd given her smile after smile, sentence after sentence, glance after glance. He'd given her more in four hours than he had in the past five years.

Much more.

Even when Nick and Warrick had come traipsing up to them–Warrick holding a basketball and Nick sporting a grin the size of Texas–Grissom had been calm and completely focussed on her. They'd been spotted alone, _together,_ and he hadn't cracked, or fled, or stuttered, or anything. Well, he might have stuttered a little bit, but Sara had barely heard it. She'd been too busy wishing that Nick and Warrick would just leave them alone and go "shoot some hoops," as they called it. She'd wanted more laps, more smiles, more sentences, more glances, more...everything. And it was evident that Grissom wanted that too.

But they didn't get what they wanted.

Somehow, Nick and Warrick had convinced them both to park themselves on the lounge chairs by the small basketball court. It could have been Nick's cheesy and welcoming grin that had done it, or the enthusiasm in Warrick's eyes, or Grissom and Sara's aching legs...

Whatever it was, they ended up in those chairs, lounging and watching as Warrick dribbled the ball around Nick again and again. It seemed like it would never end. The morning had completely flown by, but this game was creeping along at a painful pace. A_ very_ painful pace.

Grissom sighed, glancing over at Sara. "If this doesn't end in the next five minutes, would you be okay if we left unannounced?"

_We? _Her eyes widened, but they were hidden behind her sunglasses. _He wants to spend even more time together? _She smiled, feeling suddenly hot, as if the temperature had instantly jumped from eighty-five to a hundred degrees. "That sounds like a really good idea," she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the bouncing basketball. "Where should we go?"

"Well..." Grissom licked his lips, inching his way up into a sitting position. "We could go, uh, we could go up to that café they have, maybe...uh... have some lunch..." He paused. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," she lied. "I could eat." She would have been good to go on the danish she'd eaten a few hours earlier, but she wasn't about to pass up this chance. "I know you didn't have breakfast, and that danish probably didn't do much for you. Lunch...lunch would be a good idea."

He stood, and then graciously moved to Sara's side, extending his hand to help her out of the chair. She took it and he guided her to her feet. "I'm sure Nick and Warrick won't mind," he said, as they both turned to look at the two men, who were very caught up in their game.

"Oh this one is going _in,_" Nick was saying, as he dribbled his way up to the net for the first time in a while. He did a little hop and dumped the basketball into the net; a decent lay up. "See," he joked. "White men _can_ jump!"

Warrick laughed as he pursued the loose ball. "Whatever."

Sara shook her head. "They're lucky we stuck around this long," she quipped. Then, she quietly added, "it's good to see Nick having fun though."

"It is," Grissom agreed, wholeheartedly. He gazed at the younger CSI for a moment and then looked back at Sara, quickly noticing that her shoulders were getting very red. He winced; early afternoon sun and tank tops were not a good mix. "You should put some more sunblock on," he suggested gently, as the two of them wandered away from the basketball court. "Your shoulders are starting to burn."

"They are?" She reached up to touch them, the movement quick. "That happened fast," she said, with a sheepish look. "I put on a lot before our walk, but I guess I forgot about doing it again."

"You're not used to the sun here. It's much more intense."

"Apparently." She laughed lightly. "Okay, I'm going to run down to my room and put some more on. Should I...meet you? At the café?"

"I..." He looked nervous for a moment, a _fleeting_ moment. "Um, I'll just...go with you. If...if that's okay."

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah. That's...that's fine, Grissom."

_

* * *

Special Delivery_

_To: Jim Brass_

_Cabin 9034_

_Compliments of:_

_Your secret admirers_

_Hint...we've already met!_

_XOXOXOXO_

Brass was trying very hard not to vomit.

He was just sitting there, on the edge of his bed, looking back and forth between the small card in his hand and the heaping fruit basket on his dresser. It had been delivered to his room only a few minutes earlier, and one look at that annoying card told him exactly who sent it.

_Dammit._

Linda and Ellen had seen him in the dining room, that much was obvious. How they had seen him, he didn't know. He just knew that he should have found someone other than Catherine to be his human shield. Someone bigger, someone faster, someone who didn't talk loudly, someone who ate their toast in a timely manner, anyone!

Of course, it wasn't Catherine's fault, but it wasn't like he could blame the airline for assigning him the seat in front of the two loud women. And he certainly wasn't going to blame himself. He hadn't done anything to lead them on.

At least, he didn't _think_ so.

He shuddered, remembering breakfast and what he thought was a successful escape._ Well, at least they didn't shout out my name and ask me to play cards with them all day,_ he silently grumbled. _That would have been much worse. And at least now I have a whole week's supply of fruit, right here in my room._

Standing on shaky legs, Brass wandered over to the towering basket, eyeing the fruit skeptically. He saw apples, bananas, peaches, pears, grapes, a little bit of cheese, and a bottle of some sort of fancy, fizzy drink. The basket looked very nice and fairly expensive, and Brass briefly wondered why anyone would spend extra money to have that delivered when almost all of those edible items were available at the buffet.

It didn't take _too_ long for it to hit him.

"Oh my God. They really do like me," he said, speaking to the basket. "Either that, or they're playing a really big game with my mind. _Or_ they need to find a hobby. Preferably one that doesn't involve sharp objects." He paused, his eyes widening. "Or they poisoned the fruit."

That didn't make sense.

Brass knew that there was a shop near the lobby that made these baskets up upon request. They would have made up the basket and then they would have given it directly to the employee that delivered it. Linda and Ellen wouldn't have been able to get their hands on it...

But he was a detective and he'd seen it all.

So, a moment later, when he heard Greg Sanders' voice in the hall, he stuck his head out the door. "Sanders!" he called out, waving him down. "I need your...advice." It pained him to say those words, but he wasn't going to be the first one to try the fruit.

Greg lit up, just as Brass expected. "Well I _am_ the master of advice-giving," he said casually. "What do you need?" The CSI looked down at Lindsey, who was standing next to him, and he flashed her a grin. Then, the two of them made their way over to Brass.

Brass immediately ushered them into his room. "Look what I got," he said, not even bothering to point at the basket. It was so huge that it couldn't be missed.

"Wow!" exclaimed Lindsey. "That thing is huge!" She looked at it for a good ten seconds before turning to Brass and asking, "can I use your bathroom? Please? Mom's taking a shower so I can't use mine."

"Sure. Go ahead."

Lindsey disappeared and Brass got right down to business. "So, here's the problem, Sanders," he said, handing him the card. "I've got...secret admirers."

"Secret admirers?" Greg scanned the short message on the card without making any effort to control his laughter."You _do_ have secret admirers!" he said approvingly. "Any idea who? Any idea how _I_ can get one...or two...or whatever?"

"I know who they are," Brass mumbled. "They were on the plane from Vegas. And no, I don't know how you can get one, or two, or whatever. But if you're gonna try, I wouldn't wear those shorts _anywhere_."

Greg looked down, frowning. "These are my 'Caribbean Fun In The Sun' shorts. I bought them today in one of the stores down in the lobby. There's nothing wrong with them," he pouted."You're just jealous."

"Jealous of those flowers?" He pointed at the material, his eyes darting from one large tropical flower to the next. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Greg just shook his head. "Don't even try to deny it," he said, as he reached into the fruit basket and took out a large, red apple. He shined it quickly with his t-shirt and then took a huge bite. "Mmmsh. Sho ushe shed ushe shneeded advishe?"

Brass wasn't sure if he would have warned him, even if he'd had the time. Greg was so quick to just grab the fruit and chomp down that he didn't even have a chance to get a word in. He studied the CSI as he chewed, wondering if it was even possible for him to eat with his mouth closed. He doubted it.

Greg swallowed. "So...advice?" he prompted again.

Brass shook his head, still staring at Greg. The younger man didn't seem to be having a reaction. Yet.

Greg took another bite, chewed, swallowed, and then put his hands on his hips. "Okay, what are you thinking about?"

The detective shrugged. "Snow White."

"Snow White?" Greg sputtered. "What? Is there something else we should know about you?" He looked puzzled, very puzzled. Then, he looked down at his apple and shook his head. "Seriously? You think your fruit is poisoned?" He laughed loudly, looking completely relaxed and unaffected. "Man, they put these baskets together downstairs. People order them, but the cruise line puts them together. So unless you think the cruise line is trying to–"

"Of course I don't!"

"Well...is that the advice you needed? To eat or not to eat?" Greg started picking fruit out of the basket. "I can solve this one for you. I'll eat it!"

"Put down the fruit, Sanders!"

Greg grimaced. "But you don't want it! A fruit basket like this deserves to be eaten with love!"

"Go to the buffet. There's fruit there. You of all people should know that."

"Why are you being so defensive? Man, you _like _your admirers, don't you?" Greg replaced the fruit carefully, but he managed to sneak a banana behind his back.

"I _do not_ like them," Brass declared. "But if I have to have them, then I'mat least gonnaenjoy all the damn fruit I get out of it." He grimaced and silently added, _now that I know it's not poisoned. Okay...maybe it was unreasonable to think it was poisoned in the first place. But still. Linda and Ellen are obviously nuts!_

"Okay, okay," Greg relented. He took a step away from the basket, just as Lindsey emerged from the bathroom.

She saw the 'hidden' banana right away. "Oh, can I have that banana?" she asked, her fingers removing it from Greg's hand before he could reply. Greg shook his head, attempting to look innocent.

"That would be _my_ banana," Brass muttered.

Lindsey held it up."Can I have it, Jim? Please?" she asked sweetly. "I love bananas."

"Come on. You can't say no to _her_," chuckled Greg. "She_ loves _them."

Brass nodded. "Of course you can have it, darlin'. But why don't you take it, and Greg, up to pool or something?"

Greg scowled. "What are you gonna do?"

"Nap."

"Really?"

"No." Brass rolled his eyes. "I'm going to take a shower and _then_ take a nap." He made his way over to his bathroom. "You can handle letting yourself out without taking my fruit, right Sanders?"

Greg nodded. "Um...yeah."

But Greg didn't let himself out. And technically, he did take some fruit...he just didn't take it very far. When Brass came out of his bathroom ten minutes later, dressed–thankfully–in a robe, Greg and Lindsey were still there, both of them laughing up a storm. A towel was wrapped around Lindsey's head and Greg was busy placing fruit in it.

Lindsey was trying very hard to keep her fruity headpiece immobile. "It's gonna fall," she giggled, through carefully clenched teeth. "If I talk, it sways."

"Then don't talk!" Greg replied, with mock frustration. "We must finish this masterpiece in only five minutes! Time is of the essence. Our legacies are on the line here, Lindsey. This is serious stuff."

"Why five minutes?" she hissed, her lips barely moving. "I didn't know we had a time limit."

"It's swaying. Don't talk!"

She tried to glare at him, but she ended up laughing again. "But _why _five minutes?"

Brass cleared his throat. "Because in five minutes I'm gonna literally kick the two of you out of here!" Greg and Lindsey turned to look at him with huge, guilty smiles on their faces. Brass was not amused. "Actually, forget that," he said. "I'm gonna do it now."

Greg sniffled. "You're really kicking us out?"

"Yes, I am. I'm gonna have a nap. In _my_ room. The room I don't share with anyone."

"Correction. You now share your room with a fruit basket. A fruit basket your girlfriends sent you."

"Get out, Greg. Now."

After holding his hands up in defeat, Greg pulled out his camera and snapped a quick picture of Lindsey and the almost-finished headdress. Then, he began to take apart his creation. "Don't worry, Linds," he said, sighing dramatically. "Brass is just grumpy because it's formal night and he has to put on his evening gown for dinner."

"Sanders!"

"We're leaving, we're leaving. Geez. You invite us in and then you kick us out. I hope your fruit gives you diarrhea."

Lindsey froze, eyeing the banana she'd been chowing down on. "I don't," she whispered.

Brass shook his head in disbelief. Greg Sanders made Linda and Ellen seem sane. _Almost._

Greg returned all the fruit and Lindsey folded up the towel and then the two of them took off–rapidly. As they scampered out the door, Brass heard Lindsey ask, "so_ why_ did you have to do it in five minutes?"

Greg snickered.

"Because I want to go swimming!"

* * *

At seven forty-five, Nick found himself in a heated battle with his bow tie. 

A battle he _wasn't_ going to win.

"I'm not wearing this," he declared, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. "I heard that you're allowed to wear a suit if you didn't bring a tux, so I'm just gonna pretend that I didn't bring one. Anyone who has a problem with that can take their complaints to the company that made this defective bow tie."

"Defective? Really?" Warrick grinned. "Just own up to it, man. So what? You're no match for your own bow tie. It's no big deal, Bro. We can't _all _be pros." He gestured toward his own perfectly tied bow tie. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, well...I've done it before," Nick insisted. "I'm just having an 'off' day. I got too much sun, that's all." He gave Warrick a pointed look and then turned back to the mirror, psyching himself up to try again. When his second attempt instantly failed, he grunted and then declared, "You know, I'm not the only man who can't do it!"

Catherine, who was sipping wine on Nick and Warrick's balcony, let out a loud chuckle. "You're one hundred percent right, Nicky," she called out. "You're not the only one."

"I bet Greg can't do it," offered Warrick.

Catherine stepped inside the room."I don't know about Greg," she said, "but I _do_ know that a certain CSI supervisor can't do it. He hasn't even come close."

"Grissom?"

"The one and only."

"Yeah, but is that really surprising?" mumbled Nick. "I mean, the guy doesn't go out anywhere. Ever. He probably hasn't worn a bow tie in decades."

"Hmm, you'd be surprised. He attended a few lab-related functions this past year. They were mandatory functions, of course. I had to help him out the one time he was forced to go all the way and wear a tux."

"Wow. That would have been something to see," said Warrick.

"It was memorable," Catherine replied, as she set her glass of wine down on the coffee table. "Nick, get over here. Let me help."

Nick sauntered over, looking rather pissed off at himself. "So is Griss wearing a tux tonight or what?"

Catherine shrugged. "I don't know."

"He _does_ know that everyone else is suffering through it, right?"

"I think so." She pursed her lips. "But I don't know if that'll make a difference. I don't think I need to tell you that Grissom does what he wants." She paused, glancing at her watch. "We're supposed to meet in twenty minutes. I should have received his 911 call by now."

"Uh, you're not in your room to get that call," Warrick reminded her. "Maybe poor Griss is wandering the halls, knocking on doors and asking whoever answers to help him with his bow tie."

Nick stifled a laugh. "Somehow, I can't picture that."

"Me neither." Catherine grimaced. "Lindsey's in the room. I told her to call down here if he called."

"So, I guess we can assume he's wearing a suit then?"

"I would say that's a wise assumption." Catherine finished with Nick's bow tie and then patted his shoulder. "There ya go, Nicky. All set."

"Thanks, Cath," he grumbled. "Can I, um, reserve you for the next formal night?"

"Nah, I think Warrick can help you next time." She winked at him, eyes sparkling. "Just kidding. I'd be glad to help." Picking up her wine glass, Catherine moved toward the door, her free hand smoothing the front of her black dress. "Listen, I'm going to go make sure Linds is wearing appropriate clothing and I'll meet you guys in a few. Don't even think about touching your bow tie, Nick."

"Trust me. I won't."

* * *

If Grissom hadn't fallen for Sara over ten years earlier, he would have fallen in love with her that night, the moment she walked through his door. 

"You...you look...beautiful," he whispered, the words coming out before he could think twice about them, and before Sara could make it all the way inside.

Sara blushed at his compliment, her face turning as red as her elegant, floor-length dress...and her shoulders. She didn't think she looked beautiful at all. In fact, she was pretty sure that she looked like a cooked lobster, but she wasn't about to put that image into Grissom's mind.

Still, his words made her heart thump rapidly, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, letting the door shut behind her. "Um...thanks," she replied softly. "The, uh, the dress is...new. Catherine made me go shopping with her last week."

Despite the obvious tension in the small room, Grissom laughed gently. "Well, this tuxedo is old," he admitted, tugging lightly at the jacket. "Catherine _wanted_ me to go shopping with her last week, but I refused."

Sara looked up at him then, eying the tux shyly. Grissom looked so polished in it, so...handsome. "It _looks_ new," she said, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. "It looks _very _new."

"It may as well be. I've only worn it a few times."

"Oh, really?" For some reason, she was relieved to hear that. "That's...good."

"I think so too," he replied. "I don't really care for bow ties."

Sara gave him a warm smile and then she moved over to the couch, adjusting her dress carefully so she could sit down."So...where _is_ the troublesome bow tie?"

"It's right...here." Grissom produced the long piece of material and he moved to Sara's side, taking a seat on the other half of the couch. "I've never been able to do this properly," he admitted quietly, letting the tie dangle from his fingers. "I...appreciate the help."

Sara took it, blushing all over again. She was more than thrilled that he had asked _her_ for assistance. "I'm happy to help," she told him. "I just can't guarantee I'll do a good job. I haven't exactly had much experience."

Grissom looked slightly pleased. "Then this will be a learning experience for both of us."

Sara licked her lips. "Are you sure we shouldn't ask Catherine? I mean, she probably knows–"

"I'm sure." There was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, but they were twinkling. He handed Sara the tie, his hands trembling just enough for her to notice. "I...I really am thankful for your help."

Sara smiled softly, now realizing that he was trying to reach out to her._ Progress,_ she reminded herself, as she set to work. She really had no idea what she was doing, but common sense helped her out a little bit, and she eventually managed to fold the tie into something that resembled a bow.

"Don't they make clip-ons?" she asked, holding back a small chuckle. "That might be something to look into."

"I'm sure it doesn't look that bad," Grissom replied, as he stood to look in the mirror. He studied his reflection, feeling odd as he did so. "It looks fine, Sara."

"It looks alright, but I meant for the future. You should look into it when we get back to Vegas. You know, for... future occasions."

"Future occasions?" Grissom raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything else. He just extended his arm to Sara, helping her up off the couch. "If you're ready, we should, uh, we should meet the others..."

"Yes, we should." She stared into Grissom's blue eyes and he stared right back into her brown ones. Sara instantly found herself at a loss for words.

Grissom, however, had some surprising words all ready to go. "Sara, would you...allow me to escort you to dinner?"

Sara froze. All she could do was blink. First the walk, then lunch, the bow tie, and now this...

Progress, indeed!

"Sorry, I...I understand if you're not comfortable with that," he said quickly, stuttering again. He was losing his confidence. "It's okay."

Sara shook her head, forcing herself to reply, react, anything.

"No, please don't be sorry," she managed. "I just...wasn't sure if you really said that."

"I did," he breathed. "But it's really okay if–"

"Grissom." She stopped him, her eyes full of delight. "I would love for you to escort me to dinner."

With a gentle nod and a sigh of relief, he held out his arm.

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: Hey! I have been having some major writer's block lately. It has been very frustrating. Hopefully, I'll get over it soon, because I miss being relaxed when I write! Thank-you for still reading this story, and an extra special thank-you to Lasrevinu for being incredibly inspiring! 

Jazz


	7. The Moment

All evening, Sara had been bracing herself for the moment.

The dreaded, inevitable moment.

She knew it _had_ to be coming, any minute, any second, any millisecond. Gil Grissom was too predictable to keep this going on for much longer. Way too predictable. His mind had obviously been altered by all the fresh air and the relaxing atmosphere, and at some point in the near future, he would snap out of it. He would realize that he was making a mistake.

He would...right?

Sara's mind was reeling. She'd watched him closely all through dinner, all through dessert, searching his eyes for any change of heart, any realization, any indication that the best day she'd had in forever was going to end in disappointment. She'd been so careful not to get her hopes up, to proceed with caution, but her heart always led the way and she was just as much–if not more–in love with him tonight as she had been years earlier, when he'd called her to Vegas.

But he was going to take it all back and retreat to his room and pretend that this day was no different than any other. She knew him too well to think otherwise. She knew his game too well. She knew herself too well. She knew that she would fall for it again, probably in a few months, when he said something relatively nice to her in the hall at the Lab.

It never did take much for him to pull her in.

She was pretty sure that he was aware of that. So why was he giving her so much? Why had he escorted her to the dining room, and then out of the dining room and into the lounge, and then to the evening show at the theatre, and then out onto the deck? Why was he talking to her with ease and fighting his nerves to tell her that she looked beautiful? Why was he doing all of this when he was going to pull away from her? Why was he making her feel like there was actually a chance that this time might be different?

Sara sighed in the darkness, shaking off her thoughts. Despite her sunburn, she shivered lightly in the breeze, and Grissom quickly stopped beside her. His gaze swept across her bare shoulders, his eyes gentle and full of a subtle warmth that she felt right away.

"Cold?" he asked softly, as he began to shrug out of his jacket.

She was going to shake her head and say no, just so she wouldn't be a bother, but he wrapped the formal coat around her shoulders before she could do anything. She was warm in an instant.

"Um...thanks," she whispered, breathing in the scent of his cologne. She hugged the coat close to her, just smelling and feeling and memorizing. She wanted to remember everything about this, every detail; she would need something to cling to when it was over.

"Is that better?" he inquired, his eyes still glued on her.

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah. A lot better. But what about you? You're not cold?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. He started walking again, slowly, setting a leisurely pace. "It, uh, it seems like we've spent all day up here," he said, gesturing toward the track they were following.

"I think we have," Sara replied.

"I lost count at about twenty laps," Grissom admitted. "So I'm not sure what number this would be."

"I lost count too. But I think we can safely assume that it's at least twenty-one."

Grissom chuckled. "I think we've done even more than that."

"You getting tired?"

He shook his head immediately. "No. Not at all. I'm...I'm really enjoying this, Sara."

She let his words sink in slowly and then she looked over at him, her face glowing. Her mind was screaming at her, warning her to stay guarded, but her heart wanted to set so much free. She struggled to keep her emotions in check.

"I'm really enjoying this too," she told him, clenching her hands nervously. "It's been so long since we've had the chance to actually spend some time together. I was beginning to think we'd never do it again."

Grissom looked down at his moving feet. Sara wasn't sure if it was the moonlight or not, but he seemed pale all of a sudden.

"I know," he said hoarsely, hesitantly. "I was starting to think the same thing."

Sara was tempted to quietly remind him that she'd given him the chance, but the regret in his expression was so clear, so powerful, that she kept her mouth shut. She took a deep breath, refusing to think about _what_ he was regretting. Was it the past? Or was it now?

He continued, his gaze now pointed at the stars. "I'm sorry, Sara," he said, as his fingers timidly reached for hers. "I'm sorry...I pushed you away."

She felt his touch, so soft and cautious at first, on the back of her palm. He brushed her skin lightly, delicately, and then he slid his fingers through hers, watching her closely.

"Is this okay?" he breathed, as they took their first step, hand in hand. He stole a glance at her.

Her eyes were wide with shock. He'd held her hand before, when she'd needed him, and he had escorted her to dinner...but this was different. So much different.

"This is more than okay," she said, wondering if the tingling in her arms and legs was relief or something else. This was not the moment she'd been expecting.

Grissom's fingers tightened around hers, just to the point where her hand was perfectly snug in his grasp. He squeezed once, letting her know everything she needed to know in only a split second.

"I'm not going to let go, Sara."

* * *

Catherine pounded on Brass' door. 

"Jim Brass! This is ridiculous!" she called out, as loudly as she dared. If it hadn't been after eleven, she would have shouted, but since it was, she kept her voice to an insistent hiss. "Jim...open the door!" She pounded again, her fist banging several times. "I know you're in there!"

Beside her, Nick shrugged. "Maybe he _did_ go out?" he suggested. "Just because we haven't seen him since dinner doesn't mean he's locked up in there. He could be chatting it up with his new lady friends."

Catherine eyed Nick carefully. "_Lady friends?_" She shook her head firmly. "Nick–those _lady friends_ are the reason why he's most definitely _in there._" She pounded again. "Jim! I'll stand here all night if I have to! You're not spending the rest of this cruise in hiding!"

Nick sighed. "Cath, come on. He's not in there. Those women saw him at dinner and he didn't run away then, so he's gotta be out somewhere. Let's check the casino."

"We've already checked the casino."

"Let's check again."

Catherine grimaced. "No, let's _pound_ again." She rapped at the door with even more force. "Come on, Jim! Nicky and I are going to the lounge to meet up with Warrick and Greg. We told them we'd be there in five minutes. I am not leaving here without you!"

Before Nick could protest, a different door opened and a large pouf of grey hair popped into the hallway. It didn't take long for Nick and Catherine to realize that the pouf belonged to a very irritated elderly woman. Apparently, they weren't being quiet _enough._

"Excuse me, ma'am...young master," the woman said gruffly. "But some of us older folk aren't as spry as you young'uns!"

Catherine's mouth dropped open, and with a shake of her head, she took a step toward the frazzled, angry pouf. "Oh...I...ma'am, I'm sorry...It wasn't my intention to be...uh, so loud."

"Oh, it wasn't?" replied the woman. "Deary–my husband and I have been married for forty-seven years and this is not the first time we've been awakened by disarray! It is, however, the first time we've been awakened by such an _annoying _disarray! Pounding _and_ hollering! At this hour?"

Nick licked his lips. "We're both very sorry, ma'am," he said calmly, softly.

"Well, young master, you should be!" the woman declared. "Our sleep is very valuable to us!"

Nick nodded. "I understand that, ma'am. I assure you–there won't be any more noise."

"It won't happen again," Catherine added. She shot Nick a grateful look and then watched as the frowning woman and her grey pouf slowly retreated and then disappeared. "Oh, Jim you better not be in there," she muttered into Brass' door.

On cue, Brass opened the door, grinning gleefully. "Well, that was great," he declared. "Angering the elders, are we kiddies? I've never had so much fun listening through a door!"

Catherine put her hands on her hips and glared. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." She pushed her way into Jim's room, with Nick in tow.

"Why didn't you answer us?" asked Nick.

"I don't know, _young master,_" Brass replied slyly. "But I think it could have something to do with the fact that I am not going to go to the lounge with you two, no matter what you say. I just figured that if I didn't open the door, I would save my precious breath."

Catherine groaned. "You can't hide from Linda and Ellen forever."

"No, you can't," Nick agreed, as his gaze fell upon Brass' fruit basket. "Damn, that's huge. They must really like you."

"That is exactly why I can't leave this room," replied Brass.

Nick smiled. "You should be flattered, not upset. If I had women sending me fruit baskets, I would definitely want to meet them."

"That's because you're still a _young master,_" Brass grumbled. "I'm too old for this crap."

"Too old for what crap?" demanded Catherine.

Jim grimaced. "You know, relationship crap."

"Who said anything about a relationship?"

Brass thrust his arm out toward his fruit basket. "_That _did!"

"Seriously?" Catherine fell back against the desk, laughing. "God, Jim. No one's saying you have to have a relationship with these women! The fruit basket isn't saying that either. It's just a little reminder to live a little. I'm sure Linda and Ellen just want to have some fun."

"They didn't look like they 'just want to have some fun' at dinner, Catherine," Brass said, through clenched teeth. "They were blowing me kisses, dammit!"

"Sounds like they were having fun to me," mused Nick.

Brass shook his head. "They're nuts either way. Completely nuts. And I'm not going to subject myself to their nuttiness!"

"You'll have to confront them–and their nuttiness–at some point, Jim," Catherine told him. "The ship is big, but you've already managed to see them several times. You may as well talk to them now."

"I'm not going to the lounge."

"You're coming," Catherine replied sternly. "Linda and Ellen probably aren't even there, and you can't just sit in here and waste your vacation time over something so stupid."

Nick's face lit up. "Yeah, you can't tell Grissom that he has to enjoy his vacation and then not enjoy yours!"

Brass raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm enjoying myself," he said quickly. "I'm just enjoying myself in my room." He paused, and then added, "and speaking of Grissom, how come you two aren't knocking on his door? I'm sure he's in there curled up with a bug book."

His two colleagues exchanged glances.

"Actually..." Catherine trailed off, her face displaying her thought process. "Grissom was around, but he and Sara disappeared out on deck about an hour ago."

Now all three of them exchanged glances.

"He's with Sara, huh?" repeated Brass. "Hey–was it just me, or did they come to dinner together?"

Catherine pursed her lips. "It wasn't just you."

Nick's eyes were wide. "You don't think..."

"No," Catherine said quickly, but uncertainly.

After a few seconds of silent contemplating, Brass heaved in a breath, let it out loudly, and changed the subject. "Okay, well, if we're done here, would you two mind leaving so I can get back to my fruit and my movie?" He pointed at his TV. "It's much more intriguing than the lounge."

"Oh you know it isn't," Catherine snapped, as she grabbed Brass' arm and pulled. "Let's go. _Now!_"

"No!"

"If you don't move it right now, I'm going to go find Linda and Ellen and tell them you're interested," she threatened. "Wait, no–I'm going to tell them you're _more_ than interested. I'll tell them you're desperate for a full-out, long-term relationship!"

Brass scowled like a petulant child. "You wouldn't."

Catherine grinned.

* * *

Grissom had spent over a decade wondering what it would be like to have Sara in his arms. He had always wondered what her hair would smell like, how her breath would feel against his neck, what it would be like to have her fingers in his hair, and his in hers. Countless times, he had imagined a moment when he would just drop everything and pull her into a strong, endless embrace–one that made up for everything he'd put her through; for all the times he'd made it seem like he didn't care enough about her. He never thought it would actually happen. He had always considered it a dream, a wish that could never come true because his brain wouldn't allow it, because his heart never won the battle. 

And yet here he was, on a gently rocking ship, with Sara Sidle in his arms.

They were on her private balcony, their glasses full of untouched wine, their hearts pounding in each other's ears, their minds spinning with questions and answers and possibilities. Fear was building inside both of them, but the desire to just hold onto each other won out. Ever since they'd stepped into Sara's room, they knew it would.

The moment Sara had suggested that they sit and listen to the waves, Grissom knew that he was crossing the boundary. She had invited him into her room, and she had poured him a glass of wine, and she had given him a look that he would never forget–a look that was so full of restrained passion and fright that it made his knees tremble.

Luckily, Sara had led the way to the balcony, and he'd managed to take a seat and regain control over his knees. But only a few minutes later, he had lost control over them again, when Sara's brown eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"Sara." He had whispered her name only seconds before standing and pulling her up and into his arms. She'd been crying quietly against his chest ever since, her tears spilling onto his shirt and onto the tuxedo jacket she was still wearing.

Grissom was now feeling very guilty. He was realizing parts of his dream–smelling Sara's lilac-scented hair, feeling gentle puffs of her warm breath against his sensitive neck–while she had her face pressed into him, weeping softly. He knew where her tears were coming from, and if he had let her get close to him long ago, he could have stopped them before they started.

"Sara," he whispered again, as he let his fingers trail through her hair. He did it to comfort her, not to fulfill his desires. "Sara, honey, are you alright?"

She looked up at him, with wet trails on her cheeks. "What's happening, Grissom?" she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes wide and his breathing erratic. "I...I don't know."

She pressed her lips together, sighing softly. "Do you mean it, Griss?" she asked nervously. "Today. The walks. Lunch. Dinner. This. Do you _mean_ it? All of it?"

He placed one hand on her cheek, his fingertips brushing her sunburned skin gently. He took a deep breath, and fighting back all of the fear inside of him, he said, "yes."

"You do?" Sara swallowed back the lump in her throat and she clasped her fingers behind Grissom's neck, resting her head on his shoulder. "I just...I just don't understand."

Grissom brought his hand back to Sara's hair, stroking it now for her and for himself. "I don't understand either, Sara. I...I don't know what's happening...but..."

"But?"

"But...I won't forget about this tomorrow."

She pulled away a little, just so she could stare directly into his eyes. "Can you promise me that?" she begged, as another tear streamed down her right cheek. "Can you promise me that this is real?"

Acting completely on instinct, Grissom leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sara's forehead.

"I promise."

TBC

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so I realize that it has been forever since I updated, and all I can offer you is a sincere apology and a legitimate excuse: school work! Everything is so hectic right now! But the good news is, I'm over my writer's block! Thanks for reading and for all the lovely reviews! I'm so thrilled that people are enjoying this story! 

Jazz


	8. A Forgotten Hat

The Beaches, Botany, and Bugs seminar turned out to be quite an experience for Grissom and Sara. It certainly wasn't as interesting as they thought it would be, but it did give them the chance to make sure that the vacation time hadn't damaged their analytical skills. The two of them asked so many questions that they ended up annoying the instructor, who clearly knew a lot less than they did about botany and bugs, and a lot more about beaches. By the end of the seminar, the instructor had asked them twice if they'd taken the seminar just to show him up, and he'd asked them once if they even knew what a beach was.

It was obvious that he didn't like them.

"I think we've been unofficially banned from the enrichment seminars," Sara said to Grissom, as they made their way across the ship's lobby. "If he's leading the others, then we shouldn't even bother going. He'll probably kick us out."

Grissom let out a low chuckle."He shouldn't...if he knows what's good for him," he replied with a wink. "He could learn a lot from us."

"I'm sure he could," agreed Sara. "But I'm pretty sure 'our number one fan' isn't _exactly_ a fan of ours, despite that fact." She giggled lightly. "And speaking of learning a lot, I really had no idea that you knew so much about plants. I mean, I knew you'd have the bugs covered, and I knew that you'd know a fair bit about botany, since you know a bit about everything..." She paused, blushing. "But really, you had our number one fan truly stumped."

"Well, I'm a man of many surprises and complexities, Sara," Grissom said softly, as they came to a stop in front of the elevators. He smiled and pressed the call button, his eyes locked on hers. "But I guess I don't need to tell you that."

She shook her head.

"I wasn't the only one who had our number one fan _truly stumped,_" Grissom continued. "You were rather preoccupied with the questions and facts yourself, Miss Sidle."

Sara beamed, somewhat shyly. "Remind you of anything?"

"Oh yes–every single one of my forensics seminars," Grissom replied brightly. "Only I appreciated all of your comments and questions, unlike–"

"Our number one fan!" Sara exclaimed.

Grissom nodded quickly, and Sara let her fingers brush against his warm hand, just for a brief second, as if she were testing the waters. The previous night was still very fresh in her mind, since she'd been replaying his words, his gentle embrace, and his soft kiss, over and over again, until she was sure that the memory would always be a part of her. She knew that he wasn't going to break his promise, and that he wasn't going to shy away from her, but she wasn't sure where they were _at._ Was this the beginning of the relationship she'd wanted for so long?

He answered her silent question by grasping her fingers and squeezing them. His touch was still slightly timid, but there was no uncertainty in his eyes. He wanted what she wanted.

Somehow, she knew that he always had.

The moment Sara reached her room, she locked herself in and pinched her arm several times, just to make sure it was all real. Then, she stared at herself in the mirror, just to make sure that the same person was staring back at her. She certainly didn't _feel_ like herself at all. She wasn't used to being so happy, so hopeful.

Rubbing the red, stinging marks on her arm, she stepped out onto her balcony and sank into a deck chair. She had every intention of making herself comfortable in that chair, but Greg Sanders demonstrated his impeccable timing and called to her from next door.

"Sara, is that you?"

She couldn't help smiling. "No, I traded rooms with Brass!"

The young CSI popped his head around the divider between their balconies. "Hey! Where have you been?" he exclaimed. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"You have?" Sara raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget? Grissom and I were in the theatre...for the enrichment seminar."

"Ohhhh," Greg winced. "Beaches, Botany, and Bugs...right."

"Right," Sara chuckled. "What's that look for, Greg?"

"Nothing. It just sounds..." He licked his lips and forced a grin. "It just sounds so enthralling that I couldn't possibly have handled it."

"You missed out, my friend."

"No way," Greg said confidently. "I was having a much better time at the breakfast buffet."

"I'll bet you were."

"Yep. Why learn about beaches, botany, and bugs when you can experience the fabulousness of unlimited bacon, buttermilk pancakes, and banana bread?"

"Very nice. But I don't think 'fabulousness' is a word."

"It is in the dictionary of Greg Sanders. All editions."

"Really?"

Greg nodded vigorously. "You know what else is in my dictionary?"

"I can't even begin to imagine."

"Well, you don't have to, because I'm gonna tell you." Greg licked his lips, and with excitement, he revealed the word: "_sunshiney_!"

Sara gave him a blank look. "Did you just say _sunshiney?_"

"I did," Greg confirmed, as he hoisted his beach bag into the air. "I already have my bag packed for the port of call!" He pointed at it proudly and rested it on the railing so it wouldn't fall over. "I've got all the stuff I'll needhere. Sunblock...check. Sunglasses...check. Sunhat...check. Towel with a humongous sun on it...check." Glancing over at Sara, he added, "a very _sunshiney_ beach buddy...check!"

"You just called me _sunshiney,_" Sara said dryly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you are." Greg stared into her eyes. "Sara–you're glowing. You're smiling, beaming, bright, happy, cheerful, funny, relaxed, delightfully playful, enjoyably sarcastic...I'm running out of words here–but not because the dictionary of Greg Sanders is limited, of course–so the point is...I've never seen you so _sunshiney!"_

"Greg? Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

"I'm great," Sara replied. "But are you saying that I've never been delightfully playful or enjoyably sarcastic before? I'm pretty sure I've at least managed to be cheerful and funny–"

"I'm not saying that you haven't been," Greg interrupted. "I'm just saying that you've never been all of that at once before. At least not in my presence. It's, well, it's nice to see, Sar."

"Thanks."

"No prob. Is there any specific reason for all this _sunshineyness? _A reason you'd like to share with your good friend Greggo?"

Sara's heart started to pound. _I wish I could shout the truth from the highest deck of this ship,_ she thought to herself, before forcing a shrug and saying, "I'm enjoying myself more than I thought I would, that's all."

"Am I allowed to tell my beach buddy 'I told you so'?"

"No. And you're not allowed to refer to me as your beach buddy."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not your beach buddy."

"You're not?" Greg's eyes widened. "Need I remind you that we're spending the entire day on a very small, private island? There's nothing to do but go to the beach!" Greg paused to cross his arms and scowl. "Unless you're staying on the ship. Sara! Do _not_ tell me–"

"Relax, Greg," Sara said, holding up a hand to stop him. "I'm not staying on the ship. And I guess, technically, I will be at the beach. Or around it."

"Okay..."

"In the seminar, we talked about the plants and insects that can be found on the island," Sara explained. "So it makes sense for Grissom and I to go and find them."

Greg looked about ready to explode. "You're seriously choosing a hunt for plants and bugs over lounging on the beach and riding the waves on the giant inflatable raft that I plan to purchase?"

"Hey, you didn't mention the giant inflatable raft! Now I may have to reconsider."

"Really?"

"No." She smiled. "Don't worry, Greg. If we find all the plants and bugs on our list, then we'll check out the beach. Or at least I will. I can't speak for Grissom."

"I wish you could. Seeing Grissom on a beach...priceless."

"I think the fact that Grissom is on a cruise is priceless enough," Sara pointed out.

"Same goes for you," Greg replied with a wink. "Well, I'm gonna jet. I've gotta meet up with Nick and Warrick. We're supposed to be there in a half an hour. We have to get in line so we can get off the ship early!"

"Remember to be patient," Sara reminded him lightheartedly. "I'm sure just about everyone will be doing the same thing, so make sure you don't hurt anyone, and don't look too desperate."

"Me? Desperate?" He grinned and then disappeared.

Just when Sara thought he was gone, he called out, "I better see you at the beach, Sidle!"

* * *

Since he'd managed to escape Linda and Ellen the night before, Brass decided to take a chance and venture out onto the island. He didn't think the two women would be able to spot him under his red baseball cap and behind his large, dark sunglasses. He'd purchased both items right before the trip with the intention of hiding from the sun. He never imagined that he would have to hide from anything–or anyone–else. 

But here he was, laying on the beach, hiding in the only way that would allow him to still make use of his vacation time. Catherine was definitely right–he couldn't spend the rest of the cruise in his room. There was too much to see, too much to eat, too many people to tease, and–best of all–too much observing to do. From his lounge chair, Brass could see every single person who walked along the beach, and he planned to pay special attention–not just to make sure that Linda and Ellen were nowhere near him, but also to see if Grissom and Sara were on the beach...together. Brass was getting slightly suspicious of his lab-obsessed colleagues, and if there was something going on, he wanted to be the one to find out what it was.

Feeling deliciously nosey, Brass propped himself up in his chair and let his gaze follow every interesting person who passed by. He watched a little boy waddle along with an inflatable duck ring around his waist and water wings on his chubby arms. After a few minutes of that, he turned his attention to a middle-aged couple who were walking with their arms linked. Then, he watched Greg drag his new inflatable raft out into the waves. Lindsey was right there on his tail, along with her new friend Charlotte, who was wearing the brightest bathing suit Brass had ever seen; one that made him even more thankful for his shades...if that was even possible.

After deciding that it was, Brass continued watching Greg and the girls, and he found himself laughing when Lindsey and Charlotte pushed the young man off of his raft and tried to swim away with it. The two girls swam right to Nick and Warrick, who were playing football in the shallow water closer to shore.

"Nick! Warrick!" Lindsey shrieked, as she paddled the raft to their legs. "Take it! Here! Take it! Keep it away from Greg! Taaaaaake it!"

Warrick threw the football to Nick and then grabbed the raft. "Greggo? This yours, bro?" he teased. "You want it back?"

"No! Don't give it back!" Lindsey and Charlotte shouted in unison.

Nick tucked the football under his arm and flopped down on the raft. "Nah, we're not giving it back. Not until I've had the chance to catch some rays on it!"

"No! No rays!" Greg called out, laughing helplessly. "I'm gonna get you, Stokes!"

As Greg made a comical dash for his raft, Catherine plopped down into the lounge chair next to Brass and offered him a cold beer. The detective accepted the drink with a thankful nod.

"A beer? For me?" he gushed. "What did I do to deserve this?"

Catherine pulled at the rim of her sunhat. "Nothing. It's for just being you," she gushed back. "I thought I would help you get used to being pampered. When Linda and Ellen finally catch up to you, you'll be getting a lot of that. I'm sure they'll be buying you beer after beer after beer after beer after beer–"

"Cath, I get it. Thanks."

She shrugged. "Get used to it, Jim. These ladies are gonna hunt you down. I could see the determination in their eyes. They won't stop until they get what they want."

"Why am I the one they want?" Brass whined. "Grissom was sitting right next to me on the plane. He was sleeping practically the whole way, but he was still there, and he's got the whole beard thing going on. Women like that, don't they?" He sighed. "Why aren't they interested in him?"

"Because you're _special,_ Jim, and–" Catherine paused, her eyes growing wide as she spotted two very familiar people on the edge of the beach. "And...uh...because _Grissom_ might not be on the market!"

Brass followed Catherine's gaze until he found himself staring directly at Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. His two colleagues were walking together, chatting easily and smiling broadly. They looked completely comfortable with each other and one hundred percent involved in whatever conversation they were having.

Catherine turned to Brass, her mouth hanging open. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she spat out. "That's the second time we've caught them alone together in the last twenty-four hours." She narrowed her eyes, studying her strolling friends. "Has Grissom _ever_ looked that comfortable with someone of the opposite sex?"

Brass nodded, and then he shook his head quickly. "Yes, I'm seeing what you're seeing, and no, he has never looked that comfortable with someone of the opposite sex." He took a gulp of his beer. "And why the hell is he wearing that damn straw hat? Doesn't he know the thing is hideous?"

"He knows," muttered Catherine. "He just doesn't care."

Brass nodded and continued to study his friend from afar. "Is he really talking right now?" he mused out loud. "Or is it possible that his mouth is just...moving?"

"He never talks unless he absolutely has to." Catherine pursed her lips. "But I think he's really talking."

"You do?" Brass took a gulp of his beer. "Do you think we could be imagining this?"

"No. We haven't been out in the sun _that_ long."

"Okay...so do you think it's legitimate to start being suspicious?"

"Suspicious?"

"Of Grissom and Sara?"

Catherine let out a long breath. "Jim, _you_ can start being suspicious of Grissom and Sara. I've been suspicious since the day she arrived in Vegas."

"Oh you have, have you?" Brass smirked. "Well I'll have you know that I've _suspected_ something since the day Grissom called Sara, which is _before_ she arrived in Vegas, and _before_ you were suspicious."

"But you asked if we should be suspicious, and I was _suspicious_ before you. And 'suspected' is the same as suspicious, Jim!"

"So? I was sitting here on the beach waiting to catch them in the act before you were. That makes me more suspicious today. I win."

Catherine burst out laughing. "I can't believe I'm having this argument! With _you_ of all people!"

"I know," Brass groaned. "Linda and Ellen are making me insane."

"I wouldn't go right to insane," Catherine replied. "You're just...acting like me."

"Are you insulting yourself?"

"No, I'm saying that you're being nosey."

"Like you?"

"Like me," she said proudly. "It's not an insult. It's good to be nosey in our field of work."

"Indeed it is." Brass raised his drink in the air before taking another gulp. Then, after swallowing and mumbling a few good things about his beer, he continued. "Last I heard, Grissom and Sara were planning to spend the day on some sort of a bug and plant adventure. They had a list made up of all the species they discussed in that seminar this morning and they seemed pretty dedicated to finding each and every one of them."

"That sounds boring even for them," mumbled Catherine. "Maybe they found all of the them already?"

"Looks like we'll be able to ask them," Brass said brightly. "They're heading this way."

Catherine nodded. "And so is Greg. How wonderful for us."

Greg, who stomped his way over to Brass and Catherine, arrived first. He was trying his best to scowl.

"Aw, Greg, did the big boys steal your raft?" Brass teased, as Greg collapsed into the sand. "Or was it the little girls?"

"Hey! Lindsey and Charlotte are_ not_ little girls. They're vicious, conniving teenagers. Or pre-teens. Or whatever!"

"That's my daughter you're talking about," Catherine said, forcing back a smile. "She's not vicious and conniving; she's so much more than that."

"She takes after her mother," Greg replied slyly. As Catherine babbled a response, he stretched out on the sand, not caring that he was wet and that the sand was sticking to his whole body. "This is the life," he sighed happily, as he rolled around a little. "Who needs a raft when you can lay here and get filthy?"

Sara suddenly appeared in Greg's line of vision. "Actually, I would prefer the raft to getting filthy," she giggled softly. "Are you willing to let me borrow yours...since I'm making an appearance at the beach?"

Greg sat up. "You managed to get Grissom here too," he noted enthusiastically. "You're my idol. The raft is all yours if you can get it back from Nicky, Warrick, and the two giggling raft-stealers."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Sara replied. She quickly pulled off her top and her wrap-around skirt, revealing a blue tankini. After handing her check-marked list of species to Grissom, who was now sitting next to Brass, she trotted to the water and made her way over to the raft.

"So you found your bugs and your plants, I take it?" Brass asked his best friend.

Grissom didn't reply. He was completely focussed on Sara, who was already waist-deep in the water with Nick, Warrick, and the girls.

Brass cleared his throat. "Gil?"

"Hm?" Grissom tore his gaze away from Sara and immediately turned red. "Uh...looks like...the water is...nice," he stuttered. He knew that he'd been caught.

"It does look nice, doesn't it?" Catherine said suggestively.

Brass glared at her and then repeated his question to Grissom: "Did you find all your bugs and plants?"

Grissom held up the checklist. "We did. Sara has every single species checked off nicely."

"Tell me you're not bringing any of the bugs back on board the ship," spoke up Catherine.

"I'm not," Grissom said quickly. "They're all still thriving in their natural habitats. I took pictures and made a few notes. That's all."

She sighed in relief. "Oh, good, because I wasn't looking forward to seeing specimens in your stateroom."

Grissom took off his hat and set it down beside him on the lounge chair. "I didn't bring any specimen jars to put them in," he said plainly.

Greg, who had been so busy covering himself with sand that he was completely oblivious to the conversation, hauled himself into a lounge chair. "You know–I love seafood," he announced, changing the subject unknowingly. "And tonight is seafood night! So how great is that?"

Grissom licked his bottom lip. "Tonight is seafood night?"

"Yep. All you can eat." Greg lit up. "Hopefully they have those little plastic lobster bibs! And those personal bowls of melted butter..."

Grissom seemed interested. "I must say, I think I'm looking forward to dinner now."

"You weren't looking forward to dinner before?" Catherine asked. "Why not? All of us will be there. All of your _favourite_ CSIs." She glanced at Sara and then back at Grissom, a subtle, cunning smile on her lips. "I didn't think Sara owned a bathing suit, let alone a two-piece..."

Grissom wasn't sure what to say to that, but thankfully, he didn't even have to open his mouth. Greg was ready with a snarky response and a goofy grin.

"The two-piece is more your speed, huh Cath?" he said loudly. "But you like the really revealing ones."

"I'm not even going to answer that Greg." She pointed at Sara, who was now floating on the raft and laughing with Lindsey and Charlotte. "Sara's bathing suit is a pretty revealing two-piece...for her," she mused. "What do you think, Grissom?"

Grissom's mouth dropped open. "Wh..what?" he sputtered.

"Sara's bathing suit. It's pretty revealing. I thought she'd be wearing a one-piece."

Brass shot Catherine another look. She was stealing all of his thunder. "It's not _that_ revealing," he mumbled. "What are you talking about?"

She ignored his comment. "Sara looks pretty happy," she continued. "I don't think I've ever seen her smile this much. The two-piece bathing suit, the smiles...it's a whole new Sara!"

"She's _sunshiney!_" Greg exclaimed.

"Yes she is." Catherine stared at Grissom, locking her eyes on his. "She must be having a _really_ good time."

Grissom shifted in his lounge chair. "I...I think she is."

"You think so?" Brass jumped in. "I think I _know_ so."

"Well...that's good." Grissom sat up quickly. "Uh...I'm going to the, uh...the washroom." He paused. "They _do_ have washrooms on this island...right?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah, by the bar."

Grissom clenched his teeth and took off.

Brass turned to Catherine. "Congratulations," he said wryly. "You completely scared him off."

She shrugged. "He'll be back."

"How do you know?"

Catherine grabbed a certain item off of Grissom's lounge chair and held it up.

"He forgot his stupid hat."

TBC

Author's Note: I'm done school! Yeah! Finally! Hopefully I'll be able to write now! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and a special thanks to Microgirl for inspiring me to include Grissom's ugly straw hat in this story! 

Jazz


	9. Seasick

Grissom hid out in the bathroom just long enough to feel and smell disgusting, and just long enough to make Sara worry. She came looking for him after twenty minutes, wearing her clothes over her very wet bathing suit. He came out of the bathroom to find her waiting there, with her hair dripping, and her face glowing in the sun.

"Should I feel good that you got out of the water for me, or guilty?" Grissom asked, wincing as she took his arm and guided him away from the bathroom.

"You should feel good," she replied gently. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. Cath and Brass said you looked...flustered."

"I am flustered," he mumbled. "I was fine until I sat down with them. Everything was good, and then they just started...talking...and the one thing I want to remember about any of it involves Greg, which is rather disturbing."

"Oh...and what's that?"

Grissom licked his lips. "It's seafood night in the dining room...and well, I'm actually really looking forward to that."

"Seafood night?" Sara managed to laugh and sigh in relief at the same time. "So you're flustered because of Cath and Brass...and not because of anything that happened...before you talked to them?"

"No," Grissom said quickly. "God no, honey. It had nothing to do with you. Well, not really. I, uh, I was having a good...great...time with you."

She smiled broadly. "We could keep walking," she suggested. "I've definitely had my fill of raft-stealing, and it'd be nice to see all of the beach before we have to head back to the ship."

He nodded so quickly it almost hurt.

Sara held out her arm, revealing his straw hat. "I brought this for you," she said. "You left it on your chair, so I grabbed it. I guess I was hoping that you, uh, wouldn't want to go back."

Grissom took it and placed it on his head, thanking her as he slipped his fingers through hers. They took off in the opposite direction of their colleagues and began to wander the rest of the beach, both of them feeling completely relaxed.

It all seemed so perfect–just the two of them, sand under their feet, the sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean. Nothing was out of place. The sun was shining, the world around them was peaceful, and it seemed like nothing had ever gone wrong between them, or around them. There was no tension, no guilt, no sadness, no fear.

Everything was exactly the way it should be.

By the time they finished walking the entire beach, they were both very aware of that.

"I've never felt like I felt today," Sara whispered to Grissom, as the two of them boarded the small boat that would take them back to the ship. "I've never felt like everything was...right."

"Occupational hazard," Grissom replied with a short, soft laugh. "We usually witness the exact opposite of all this."

"No kidding," Sara sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. "I never believed that this could exist. And now that I'm here experiencing this..peace...it's hard to believe that there's so much death and destruction out there."

"Try not to think about it," Grissom whispered. He took a seat on the boat and guided Sara down with him. She nestled closer to him, yawning. "We'll have to go back to that soon enough," he continued. "So for now, let's...let's just enjoy ourselves."

"Don't tell Brass and Catherine though," Sara giggled. "They'll feel a sense of achievement, and we can't have that."

"No, we can't."

Sara was about to say something else, but Grissom brought his hand to her head and began stroking her hair softly. Her eyelids fluttered and she let them close, breathing in and out slowly, evenly. She'd been tired for the past few hours, but now it was really hitting her. She couldn't even imagine trying to stay awake–it would require too much effort.

Grissom brought his lips to her ear. "It's okay, Sara," he told her. "I'll get you back to your room."

She moaned. "You've...had to...do that...once already."

"It was no problem. Really. I was happy to do it. In fact, I...uh, enjoyed it."

"I...would have...enjoyed it too, but I was...unconscious."

He smiled, and with a caring hand, he tucked her head under his chin. She leaned further into his chest, and before either of them knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

Nick and Warrick were on the top deck, playing basketball yet again, when the storm rolled in. They didn't notice it at first, but by the time they finished their rowdy game of Twenty-One, the raindrops were falling steadily, and the ship was swaying so much that the basketball was going in directions they didn't want it to. It was then, and only then, that they decided to abandon the ball and go get ready for dinner. 

But not long after, Nick was wishing that they had stayed.

He'd been feeling okay in the fresh air, despite the movement of the ship, but now that he was inside his room, he felt every lurch, every dip, and every roll. He could do nothing but lay on his bed, with his dress-shirt half-on and his eyes closed tightly. His face was becoming very pale and...

"Dude...you're green."

Nick cracked one eye open and frowned. "Greg..." he mumbled. "How'd you get in here?"

"I used the door," he replied simply. "Don't worry, I knocked first...Didn't you hear me?"

Nick shook his head and groaned as the ship took on the biggest wave yet, sending his stomach plummeting to his knees.

"Ah, well, you must be really out of it," Greg continued, sitting on the edge of the bed, but maintaining a safe distance from his seasick friend. "I definitely knocked, and Warrick let me in. He said you weren't looking too hot, and man, he wasn't lying."

"Gee Greg, thanks. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that right now."

Greg shrugged. "Sorry. But you _are _green."

"I am?"

"Yep."

Warrick stepped closer to the bed so he could study his Nick's face. "Greggo's right," he proclaimed with a nod. "You really are green. Man, you look worse than you did only two minutes ago."

Nick moaned. "I _feel_ worse too. Imagine that."

"Can we get you anything?" Greg offered, pasting a sympathetic look on his face. "Do you want some water? A blanket? Pills? Cold cloth? Barf bucket?"

"No thanks, not yet...I'm hoping this'll go 'way quickly."

"Don't count on it, Nicky," Warrick said gently. "From the look of things, that storm's just getting started."

Nick mumbled a four letter word.

Greg hopped up. "I'm gonna get you the barf bucket and some water, at least. You're gonna need it." He started poking around the room. "Would you prefer the ice bucket or the bathroom garbage can?"

Nick rolled over so that he was facing away from his friends. "Whatever," he sighed, scowling as he stared out the sliding glass door at the rain. It was coming down so hard that he could barely see the ocean. "Is this normal?" he asked through clenched teeth. "'Cause it doesn't feel normal."

"I wouldn't go straight to _normal_," Warrick replied. "But it's not horrible...yet. Greg and I aren't even bothered by it."

"Yet."

Warrick chuckled. "Right."

"Well,_ I_ never get seasick," Greg declared, as he returned to Nick's side with a bottle of water, a glass, the ice bucket, and the garbage can. "I have the strongest stomach in the world. That's why I do so well at the buffet." He grinned. "Here, I brought the ice bucket _and_ the garbage can. That way you can hurl in one and not have to worry about cleaning it out right away. You can just hurl in the other."

"You know, I _am_ capable of making it to the bathroom," Nick replied dryly. "I don't actually need these."

"'Course not. I'm just trying to help you out while I can," Greg said. "We have to be at dinner in like ten minutes, and I won't be able to enjoy my seafood unless I know you're gonna be okay in here."

"So that's why you're being helpful," mused Warrick. "I knew there was a catch."

Greg winced. "Well...it's also because I care."

"Yeah, yeah, I know ya do," Nick grumbled. "I'll be fine. Just go to dinner."

Warrick nodded. "Right. I still have to change my shirt. Greggo, why don't you go up and get everyone else and I'll meet you there?"

Greg obviously liked that idea. He was at the door before Warrick finished speaking. "Feel better, Nicky," he called. "I'll have them fix up a plate for you for later!"

"No!" Nick ground out. "Food is not my friend right now."

"Okay...I'll have them make up a plate for me for later!"

And with that, he hightailed it out the door and made his way–with some difficulty–up to deck nine, where he found Lindsey and Brass waiting in the hall, just outside Sara's half-open door. They were leaning against the wall to keep their balance.

"Hey, Greg!" Lindsey exclaimed. "Guess what? Sara's throwing up. At least...I think she is." She made a face and pointed at the door. "My mom's been in there with her for ten minutes. Sara said she wanted to try to eat dinner with us, but then she went all white and ran back into her room. She's definitely seasick."

With a sigh, Greg joined them on the wall. "She's not the only one."

Brass eyed the young CSI. "What? You seasick, Sanders?"

"Me? What? No! I never get seasick! _Nick_ is seasick."

"Is he in his room?"

"Yeah. He's laying down."

"Sara's doing the same thing," Catherine announced, as she came out the door. "She took something that should help her stomach, but she won't be leaving her room any time soon. She might not be leaving her _bed_ any time soon."

"She's that bad?" Brass asked, one eyebrow raised. "Anything else we can do?"

Catherine shook her head. "She wants us to go to dinner. I'll come back and check on her in a little while." She looked from Brass to Greg. "How bad is Nicky? And where's Warrick?"

"Nick is green, and Warrick is changing his shirt. He's meeting us there."

"And Grissom?"

Greg grinned. "I dunno. In the library reading the first chapter of _Vomit on the High Seas?_"

Lindsey exploded into giggles._"Vomit on the High Seas!_" she called out gleefully. "That's awesome!"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Thank-you, Greg. Now she'll be repeating that all night."

Greg winked at both mother and daughter. "That's the idea."

Catherine decided that it was best to ignore Greg, and she made her way down the hall to Grissom's room. Brass and Greg followed, and Lindsey–who was still laughing–brought up the rear. Between her giggles and the rocking ship, she could barely move at all. Her legs just wouldn't work properly.

Lindsey caught up with the group just as Grissom opened his door. "I guess he's not in the library," she laughed.

"No, I'm not," Grissom replied, yawning. "I haven't been in the library at all today. Why?"

Brass stared at his dishevelled friend. It looked like he had been napping for a very long time. "We haven't seen you since you took off at the beach. Where'd you go?" he asked.

"I went to the washroom. Then, uh, Sara brought me my hat...and we, um...walked a little, and then we came back to the ship. I've been napping ever since." He paused, looking at his watch. "It's dinner time already," he realized, perking up a little. "Sara was taking a nap too, but I'm pretty sure she was planning on going to dinner. Did you wake her up?"

Catherine grimaced. "She was already up when we knocked."

"Is she getting ready?"

"Uh...not exactly. She's feeling a little...under the weather."

Grissom couldn't hide his concern. "What? Is she okay?" he asked quickly.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Catherine replied, a small smile curving her lips. Grissom's reaction was very telling indeed. "She's laying down right now, and so is Nick, from what I hear."

"I wonder who'll be next," snickered Greg.

Grissom scowled. "This isn't exactly smooth sailing, Greg."

"I know, I know, but it's not _that_ bad yet. We can still go to dinner."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm...uh, I'm not as hungry as I thought I would be," he lied. "I think I'll stay here and order something later."

Catherine stared him down. "_You're_ not seasick...are you?"

"No, but I'm still tired, and I'd rather eat when I'll enjoy it."

"Seafood night, Gil," Brass reminded him. "I thought you were looking forward to it."

"I was," he said simply. "But I can order it to my room later and be just as satisfied."

"Okay," relented Brass. "We'll try not to take your absence personally."

"Good." Grissom gave them a weak smile and waved them off. "Go. Feed yourselves. Enjoy."

"We will!" Greg and Lindsey exclaimed in unison.

Grissom watched as his friends stumbled down the hall, and then quickly, he retreated into his room to grab his card key. He opened his door and looked both ways to make sure no one was watching, and then he made his way to Sara's room, keeping his arms out to brace himself as the ship rocked from side to side. He wasted no time before knocking on her door, but it took a little while for her to answer. When she finally did, he cringed.

She was pale. So pale. Paler than he had ever seen her. And he could remember countless times when she had forgotten to eat and had come into work as white as a ghost.

"Sara," he breathed, his eyes full of concern. "Honey..." Taking a step forward, Grissom reached out, wrapping gentle fingers around her arm to steady her.

"I'm okay," she sighed. "I just need to sleep. Or something."

Grissom slipped into Sara's room and made his way to her bed, guiding her along with him. He sat her down slowly and then he eased himself down to his knees in front of her.

"Have you taken anything for your stomach yet?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, but I took it too late. I can't keep anything down."

Sara gave Grissom a desperate look, and he took her hands into his. "How many times have you been sick?"

"Too many," she mumbled. "I woke up from my nap, and I was gonna try to go to dinner, but then I started to feel queasy. I told everyone to go without me." She paused, her red eyes widening. "Wait. Griss, why aren't you at dinner?"

"Dinner?" He seemed surprised. "Dinner doesn't matter. You're sick."

A little bit of red crept back into her cheeks. "I know, but...I'm okay," she insisted.

"Honey, you're not," he whispered. "You're...pale, shaking..."

"Am I green?"

Grissom smiled, bringing one hand to her sweaty forehead. "No, you're not green," he replied, as he gently brushed back a few stray hairs. "I don't think you could be green if you tried."

Her heart fluttered, just from the soft, caring tone of his voice. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said. "But getting back to dinner–you need to go. It's seafood night. You were really looking forward to that." She tried not to grimace at the thought of food, but she couldn't help it.

"It's not that important," Grissom replied. "I...I want to be here. I...want to...take care of you."

If Sara hadn't felt so sick, she would have melted, right then and there. Still, she wasn't about to give in and let him miss out, even though she wanted him to stay with her more than she wanted to get off the damn ship–which was a hell of a lot.

"But Griss–the lobster, the calamari, the mussels, the crab–" She groaned as her stomach churned. "Okay, uh...enough of that, Sidle."

He chuckled lightly. "Relax, Sara. I can order seafood to my room later. I'm not going anywhere right now."

She looked hopeful and suddenly ready to give in. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He stood up slowly, giving his knees a chance to adjust. Then, he went to the bathroom to wet a facecloth and to gather a few other items that Sara might need. When he returned, Sara was lying down, curled up under the covers. He sat down on the edge of the bed, placing the facecloth on the back of her neck. "Does that help?" he asked quietly.

She mumbled something.

"Sara?"

"Mmmmm, uh huh, yeah, thanks. That's good." She looked up at him wearily. "You know what would be even better?"

"What?"

"Getting off this ship."

Grissom touched her cheek lightly. "If I could get them to stop and let us off, I would," he vowed, as he moved closer to her on the bed, placing his other hand against her back. He felt her breathe in and out raggedly. "Tell me if you're going to be sick, and I'll help you to the washroom," he said. "Or I could bring you the garbage can."

"I don't need it," she replied quickly, weakly. "I can make it to the bathroom. But thanks."

He nodded, and to his surprise and delight, she snuggled closer to him, seeking out his comfort.

"Grissom?" she whispered.

"Mmmhmm?"

She looked up at him again, sighing deeply.

"This isn't how I imagined our first time in bed together."

TBC

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews and e-mails! As always, I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! I hope you're still reading! Thanks! 

Jazz


	10. In Unison

"_This isn't how I imagined our first time in bed together."_

Grissom tried to take a few deep breaths, but it felt like all the air had been sucked from his chest. It wasn't a bad feeling at all; it was a feeling of utter relief and thankfulness. He blinked a few times in shock, but a wonderful warmth flowed through his body, calming him completely.

_So I'm not the only one with an overactive imagination,_ he thought to himself, as he began to tuck the covers tightly around Sara's figure. Her eyes were closed now, and Grissom wondered if she would even remember what she said to him. To his surprise, he found himself hoping she would.

"Sara?" he whispered softly, to see if she was still awake.

She stirred, tightening her grip on his fingers. Grissom jumped slightly at the pressure. He had almost forgotten about their entwined hands.

"Sara...you're falling asleep...do you...do you still want me to..."

She squeezed his hand even tighter, stopping him. "Please stay..."

Her words were weak, but full of certainty. She wanted him with her.

For the night.

Grissom took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he promised, "I'll stay here as long as you want me to."

Sara smiled tiredly, keeping her eyes closed. "Good."

"Are you sure you don't want me to get the garbage can from the bathroom? Just in case you wake up feeling sick?"

She didn't answer.

"Sara?"

"Ummmm no garbage can. I'm okay."

Grissom knew her too well to believe it, but he didn't say anything. She was still way too pale to be 'okay,' so he kept a close eye on her as she drifted off, stroking her hair and holding her close. After about twenty minutes, he began to convince himself that she'd been telling the truth and that she was resting comfortably. But just as he started, her eyes shot open and she sat up rapidly.

"Grissom," she said, between quick breaths. "Bathroom."

He was on his feet instantly.

"I've got you," he said gently, as he pulled her up and helped to steady her against the rocking ship. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and guided her quickly to the bathroom.

They arrived just in time.

"I hate this," Sara moaned, after being sick for what she thought was the seventh time. She rested her head against the toilet seat, not even caring about the germs. "Get. Me. Off. This. Ship."

Grissom wet another face cloth and then bent down in front of her. He pressed the cool cloth to her forehead, and then to her cheeks. "The storm will be over soon, honey," he told her, hoping that he was right.

Thankfully, he was.

But Sara had to make two more rapid trips to the bathroom before it was all over. Grissom helped her both times, holding her hair, wiping her face, giving her water to keep her hydrated. He never left her side.

She found him beside her in the morning, cuddled up under the same comforter, clothes wrinkled, glasses right next to his head. He was sleeping peacefully, and Sara couldn't stop staring. The ship was moving gently now, and she felt warm, calm, and perfectly content to just lay there forever and stare at the man who had watched her vomit all night–the man who clearly cared about her.

When Grissom's eyes finally fluttered open, she smiled and placed her hand on his cheek.

"You never got your seafood."

:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o

Jim Brass studied Greg Sanders carefully.

"So you weren't at the Champagne bar last night," the detective said, "_Or _any of the other bars, or the disco, or the buffet, or the pool, or the lounge, or the café...Sanders, where the hell did you get to?"

Greg crossed his arms and leaned back against the corridor wall. "You must not have been looking hard enough," he declared. "I was...around. In fact, I was in all of those places...for short amounts of time. You must have just missed me...everywhere."

Brass frowned. "Okay smart ass, who were you with?"

"Uh..." The young CSI shifted uncomfortably. "I was with myself. You know...having some 'me' time, getting in touch with my innermost thoughts."

"You actually think I'm gonna believe that?"

Greg shrugged. "Why not? You believe two strange women are stalking you and poisoning your fruit."

"They _are_ stalking me."

Catherine suddenly popped up next to Brass. "Ugh, you're not obsessing over Linda and Ellen again, are you?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. She looked behind her and waved to Lindsey, hoping to hurry her up. The blonde girl was double-checking to make sure their stateroom was locked, while attempting to hold up her heavy beach bag. She seemed to be all set for a day at Grand Cayman.

"We're not talking about Linda and Ellen," Brass huffed, as he watched Lindsey stagger towards them. "We're talking about Greg's disappearance last night."

"Oh, Greg's disappearance...I see," chuckled Catherine. "You know, Greg, I'm kinda curious about that myself."

"You were born curious," muttered Greg.

"Someone's bitter this morning. Did you, uh, have a bad night?" She smirked. "Jim and I looked everywhere for you. You were the only one unaccounted for."

"That's not true. I'm sure Grissom was nowhere to be found."

"Yeah, but we expected that," Brass pointed out. "Actually, _you_ were the only one we were expecting to _find_. Grissom is always missing; Nick and Sara were sick; Lindsey was at the teen centre with that girl with the bright bathing suit; and Warrick was helping Nick out."

Catherine winced. "Oh speaking of that, I forgot to check in on Sara last night. I told her I'd stop in."

Brass lowered his voice. "I wouldn't worry about it. Something tells me she was well looked after."

"I figured the same thing," Catherine replied with a wink.

"Stop being all secretive!" demanded Greg. "It's not like I don't know what you're talking about!"

Lindsey arrived just then, huffing and puffing. "Thanks for all the help guys," she mumbled. "Mom, please, please carry this." She dumped the heavy bag at Catherine's feet and then sank down to the floor. "_So_...what are you being all secretive about?"

"Nothing," Brass replied quickly. "The only one who's _really_ hiding anything is Greg. He doesn't want us to know where he was last night, although I think I'm getting a pretty good idea..."

Greg's eyes went wide. "No you're not."

Brass pursed his lips. "I'm thinking Greg spent the night in his room. Or more specifically in his _bath_room."

Greg shook his head fiercely. "You can't prove that."

"No I can't. You're right. But I have a feeling you're going to cave and admit that Greg Sanders, with his super iron stomach, is not immune to seasickness."

The CSI shook his head again. "I never get seasick!"

Lindsey started to giggle. "Awwww, Greg, you're turning red!"

"Am not."

"Are too!"

Greg let out a long sigh. "Okay, okay, I _may_ have been sick last night. But I only threw up once!"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Just once?"

"Okay, maybe twice..."

"Or was it closer to seven or eight times?" asked Brass. "It doesn't really matter, Greg. You said that you _never_ gets seasick. If you threw up once, you may as well have thrown up the whole night."

"Thanks Brass," Greg grumbled. "You just made everything so much better."

Jim patted his shoulder. "That's what I'm here for."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Alright, now that we've established that Greg is human, can we go?"

"Are we waiting for everyone else?"

"Nah," said Greg. "Grissom and Sara are probably gonna do something lame, like look for bugs all day again, and Nicky and Warrick are going deep sea fishing."

"What are we gonna do?" Lindsey asked her mother.

Catherine smiled. "Whatever we want."

:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o

Catherine's idea of 'whatever we want' didn't exactly mesh with Lindsey's. For once in her life, Lindsey didn't want to shop–she wanted to go snorkelling. Catherine, however, wanted to hit the upscale stores on the island. So Lindsey ended up spending the day with Greg, while Catherine lured Brass into the shops with her, promising him that she would keep an eye open for the item he wished to purchase: a disguise.

"Can't you just let it go?" she asked him, over and over again. "You haven't seen Linda and Ellen for at least twenty four hours now," she would point out. "They've probably found someone else to stalk."

But Brass would have none of it.

He was kidding about the disguise, of course, but he had a feeling that Linda and Ellen were right on his toes and that he would find himself face to face with them in the near future.

He spent hours shuddering at the thought.

Meanwhile, Lindsey and Greg enjoyed a few hours of snorkelling. They squeezed themselves into wetsuits and flippers, and they spent an hour taking pictures of each other with their masks and snorkels on. When they finally made it into the water, they discovered that they were both slightly afraid of what lurked underneath the surface. Lindsey would freak out every time a fish larger than her finger whizzed by, and Greg saw way too many shellfish for his liking.

"I like to _eat_ lobster and crab," he said to Lindsey, after they returned their equipment. "I don't like to _swim_ with them."

"That's what snorkelling _is_, Greg," the girl pointed out wistfully. "I can't believe you didn't know that."

"Hey, I _did_ know that!" he replied with a grin. "It just didn't really sink in until we were there. And look who's talking, miss fish-phobia.They're _fish. _Harmless and tasty."

"Lobster and crab are harmless and tasty."

"Tasty, yes. Harmless, no." Greg shuddered. "Did you _see_ those claws? They're freaky when they're in action. Getting pinched would suck."

"Well did you see the teeth on that one fish?" Lindsey countered. "Much scarier."

With a chuckle, Greg wrapped his arm around Lindsey's shoulders. "So I guess we shouldn't snorkel anymore, huh?"

"Oh, we should still snorkel," she replied. "Are you kidding? I had a blast!"

Greg had to agree. The lobster and crab might have been scary, but spending time with Lindsey was great. The two of them had marvelled at the deep blue-green water, at the sunshine, at the white sandy beaches, and at the ship, which looked huge from where they'd been swimming. Greg had enjoyed sharing the entire experience with the young teen.

"I wonder if Nick and Warrick have caught anything," Lindsey mused, as she and Greg packed up to return to the ship. "I bet they found some big fish–with the biggest teeth ever!"

Greg laughed. "Well, you know what would be better?"

"What?"

"If they caught nothing at all."

"Why?"

"Because I would never let them forget it."

But Nick and Warrick _did_ catch some fish. In fact, they caught quite a few. The only problem was that the two grown men wouldn't stop arguing over who caught the biggest fish of all. They ran into Greg and Lindsey on the way back to the ship and the two snorkellers couldn't keep up with the bragging.

"The first one I caught was the biggest," Nick insisted. "It almost pulled me right in. C'mon you were right there, 'Rick. You saw it!"

"My fifth one was pretty damn big, Nicky," Warrick replied, frowning. "You're dreamin' if you think yours was bigger."

"Man, you gotta be kidding me. You should have your eyes checked."

"You should try to get a firm grip on reality."

"Cut it out you two," Greg whined. "It doesn't matter who's was bigger. If I had been there, you wouldn't even be having this conversation because mine would have clearly been the biggest."

"Yeah!" Lindsey chimed in, backing up her friend. She crossed her arms and glared at the other two men. "Greg's would have been the biggest for sure!"

"Thanks, Linds."

Warrick and Nick stared at the girl for a moment before continuing their playful argument, and Lindsey, who looked very pleased with herself, turned back to Greg.

"Want to hit the buffet when we get back on the ship?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Greg gave her a high five. "You bet."

:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o

Grissom and Sara spent only a few hours at Grand Cayman. They got off the ship at noon, after Sara had eaten a little bit. She hadn't been as lucky as Nick and Greg; her seasickness lingered right into the morning. But by eleven o'clock, she had managed to eat some toast, drink some juice, and keep it down, so she decided that she was feeling well enough to explore the island for awhile.

Grissom agreed, but he kept a close eye on her the entire time.

"Just let me know when you want to go back to the ship," he told her gently, over and over again, as they wandered the streets of Grand Cayman.

Every time, Sara would smile.

"I'm fine," she'd say, as a comforting warmth radiated through her body. She was starting to get used to having Grissom by her side, caring about her every move, and she couldn't even imagine how she'd lived without him for so long. He made her feel so safe, so loved.

Grissom seemed to be very aware of her feelings. He led them to a small outdoor café, and he helped her sit down on one of the chairs. And then he sat close to her, keeping his hand wrapped around hers. The contact was reassuring, and very much needed. Sara wasn't sure if she could go five minutes without his touch.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready to go home," she whispered, leaning closer to him. "I could definitely deal with more seasickness, if it meant that everything could just be like it has been, all the time."

He gazed into her eyes. "I...I think everything could stay the same," he said quietly. "I _want _it to stay the same." He took a deep breath, leaning in closer and closer, until the tip of his nose met Sara's cheek. "I...God..."

"It's okay," Sara encouraged, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers reached for his hair.

And then his lips met hers, and they were both instantly lost in a glowing haze, exploring each other in a way they had both dreamed of for so long. It was intimate and wonderful and gentle and passionate–it was all of those things and more. So much more. It was just that the rest of it was so indescribable.

Sara was breathless. Her mind was running a mile a minute. Grissom was kissing her in public, where any one of their friends could walk by at any moment, and he didn't seem to care. He was going for it, giving her everything he had in him without any hesitation. It was all so intense...and yet so soft and tender.

Both of them were shaking when they finally pulled away. Grissom held both of Sara's hands, feeling her tremble. He stared at her, breathing deeply, as he analysed the full effect that they had on each other.

Everything was suddenly clear.

He knew how she made him feel, and now he was certain that he made her feel the same way.

They were living–and feeling–in unison.

Finally.

TBC

Author's Note: Hello! I'm back! I was on a very long break, and I apologize for the wait. I lost interest for awhile, but now I'm back, and I hope to continue! For all those who reviewed: thank- you so much! Expect personal thank-you's this time around!

Thanks!

Jazz


	11. Hall Ball

The moment finally arrived.

Jim Brass was standing face to face with the infamous Linda and Ellen.

It all happened quickly, really.

Brass was walking down to the lounge to meet Catherine and Warrick for appetizers when all of a sudden, he walked directly into what felt like a gigantic sponge. It only took him a moment to shake himself off and realize that it wasn't a sponge at all–it was the two women he had been trying to avoid, clad in jogging suits and sweatbands, huffing and puffing.

He gulped.

"Oh my, my, my," Linda gushed, blushing immediately. "Look who we finally ran into, El!"

Ellen's eyes were wide. "God, it's a good thing we just exercised," she said under her breath, as she elbowed her friend.

"Or not," Linda replied. "Good gracious, we must be a sight! All red, sweaty, and...exhausted." She gave Brass a not-so-subtle look, her left eye closing for just a second in a suggestive wink.

Brass could barely breathe. "Ummmm..." he mumbled.

Linda let out a hearty laugh and tucked her water bottle into the fanny pack she was wearing. "I guess we haven't been properly introduced, darlin'" she said, extending her hand. "I'm Linda Myles."

Brass stared at her hand and wondered if he should even attempt to run away. Somehow, while he contemplated, his hand moved involuntarily, and he found himself watching as he shook hands with the woman.

Linda's hand was sweaty.

Very sweaty.

"Uh, nice meeting you," Brass grumbled out, dropping Linda's hand quickly. "I'm...Jim."

"Oh, we know," Ellen said brightly, as she stuck her hand out. "I'm Ellen James."

Brass shook another sweaty hand.

It might have been his imagination, but he swore he could taste vomit in his mouth.

"So where are you off to in such a hurry?" Ellen giggled. "You looked like a man on a mission!"

_Yeah. I was on a mission alright,_ Brass thought wildly. _Only the mission failed the moment I ran into you! _He looked directly at the two women and thought out the words he really wanted to say. 'Go away' topped the list, but he didn't want to be labelled the jackass of the cruise, so he forced a smile and glanced down at his watch.

"Wow, look at the time," he sighed. "It was so nice meeting you, but yes, indeed, I was on a mission. I have to meet some people...a minute ago."

"Well, where ya headed, sweetpea?" Ellen asked, slapping his arm playfully."Haha, oh wait. It's more like, where does the mission end, captain?"

She laughed.

Loudly.

_Sweetpea? Captain?_

Brass cringed. "I'm heading to the um, uh, the...lifeboats." He knew it didn't make sense, but it was all he could come up with. He could only hope that Linda and Ellen would be dumb enough to believe him.

No such luck.

Linda was clearly puzzled. "The lifeboats? Why?"

Brass shrugged as he scrambled for an answer. "I'm inspecting them," he said, spitting the words out. He shuffled his feet, stalling for time. "You, uh, you probably couldn't tell by looking at me, but I'm...I'm a nervous cruiser. I always have to be on top of things...you know, make sure the lifeboats are in good working order, count them, and all that."

Brass waited for a response, hoping that it would involve the two women walking away. But to his dismay, Linda and Ellen exchanged a gleeful glance.

"Awwww, that's adorable," Linda exclaimed, speaking as if she were talking to a little baby. "It's okay to be nervous." She paused, grinning. "I like that in a man..."

Ellen elbowed her friend again. "Don't be so _forward_, Linda," she hissed, as she frantically adjusted her headband and smoothed her hair back.

Brass was trying desperately to stay calm. "Okay, ladies. I gotta go meet up with my..." He was about to say 'friends', but then a light went on in his head. "I gotta go meet up with my girlfriend. She's been waiting for me. In the lounge."

Linda and Ellen didn't seem fazed by Jim's revelation. "You have a girlfriend in the lounge?" Linda asked, one eyebrow raised. Brass watched as she gave Ellen a look that clearly said 'that can easily be taken care of.' He clenched his teeth.

Within seconds, he was expanding his little fib. He let out a fake-sounding chuckle and shook his head slowly. "Wow," he said. "Did I just say _girlfriend?_ Oops. It's a good thing she's not nearby." He chuckled again. "I'm just not used to this yet, I guess. We've only been engaged for a few weeks, so it's still a little strange. I meant to say _fiancé. _That's what she is, after all."

The two women eyed him skeptically, but they _still_ didn't seem fazed. "So, darlin,'" Linda said, patting him on the back. "You're off the market, huh? A nice, handsome guy like you. Doesn't surprise me." She smiled slyly, as if she were enjoying this game. Brass had no idea whether or not she was believing him or not. She could be enjoying this either way, he figured.

Ellen linked arms with Brass. "So what's her name, cutie?"

_Cutie? _Brass tried not to utter a four letter word. _Are these women for real? _he wondered wildly. _Are they really this crazy? _

Linda took Brass' other arm and suddenly, they were all walking together. Toward the lounge.

Brass tried to think up a way to escape, a way to just disappear and stay invisible, but his mind was almost completely blank.

"What's the lucky gal's name?" Ellen asked again.

Brass sighed. If he was going to save himself, then there was only one possible answer:

"Catherine."

:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o

The stateroom television was tuned to a station that played soft music and all the lights were off. Sara was curled up on the bed, snuggled up against Grissom's chest. His arms held her firmly, but gently, and she couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of his body against hers. It didn't matter that it was late afternoon; she would be able to stay in bed for the evening, and for the whole night too, if it meant that she and Grissom could stay exactly the way they were, right at that moment.

"I wish we could stay in bed forever," Sara whispered to Grissom, as her eyes fluttered closed. "I want to fall asleep just like this, and then wake up and see you're here with me, and then go back to sleep, and then wake up and find you here all over again." She smiled softly against his chest. "Does that sound stupid?"

"No," Grissom replied softly. "Not at all. It sounds nice." He dipped his head to kiss her forehead, and then her cheek, and then her lips. "It sounds like a good idea to me," he breathed, between kisses. He lifted one arm, his fingers finding Sara's hair. He stroked it gently while his nose found the crook of her neck.

Sara laughed. "Your nose is cold," she informed him quickly. But she didn't seem to want him to stop. She moaned happily as he kissed along her jugular, and down to her right shoulder, and if it wasn't for her body's powerful reaction, she would have had to keep reminding herself that this was real. It was just so...good.

The whole day had been so good.

After returning to the ship, Grissom and Sara had wandered back to Deck 9, their feet carrying them to Sara's room without consent. It wasn't that they didn't _want_ to end up there–they just weren't thinking. Their minds were occupied by a million emotions, and by an overpowering desire to just be together. They _needed_ to be together. It didn't matter where they ended up–as long as that need was fulfilled.

They'd spent hours just laying on Sara's bed, holding each other. They didn't need to do much to feel satisfied. They weren't even tempted to take it any further than gentle kisses and soft touches. They knew that they both _wanted_ even more than that, but they wanted to wait for that–to wait for the moment they knew was coming. The anticipation was something they both wanted to treasure.

So they held each other, and they talked, catching up on all the things they missed during the years they danced distantly around each other. There were things that needed to be said, and things that needed to be clarified, and explorations that needed to be embarked upon–both physical and emotional. It was an afternoon filled with loving words, and desperate tongues, and frantic fingers, and rapid breaths, and complete tranquillity.

They might have stayed there right through dinner, enjoying all of those things on Sara's bed, had it not been for a mysterious, intermittent interruption.

_Thump._

_Thump._

The first two times, Grissom and Sara ignored it. They were to wrapped in each other to care about the noise that seemed to be coming from right outside the door.

_Thump._

_Thump._

After the fourth time, they exchanged a puzzled glance.

_Thump._

After the fifth, they were annoyed.

"What is that?" Sara mumbled under her breath, as she reluctantly pulled away from Grissom's embrace and got up off the bed. She trudged over to the door, looking through the peep hole with a frown. "I don't see anything–" she began to say, but another loud _thump_ stopped her.

Something had just hit the wall outside of her room.

"Someone's throwing something out there," she announced, as she moved to open the door.

"Well it certainly sounds like it," Grissom replied. He was still laying down on the bed, his mind and body already aching for Sara to return.

She glanced at him, looking over her shoulder, and she briefly wondered if he had always been as handsome as he looked right then. Then, still contemplating, she slipped out the door.

She should have known that Greg Sanders would be the culprit.

"Greg? What are you doing?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I was trying to have a nap, and all I could hear was thump, thump..." Part of that was a lie, of course, but she was pretty sure it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Greg had disturbed her...and Grissom.

Greg was oblivious. He just grinned, holding up a beach ball. "I'm a genius," he announced, grabbing Sara's arm and pulling her all the way out her door. She managed to shut the door quickly behind her, so that Greg wouldn't see in. She and Grissom hadn't discussed it, but she assumed that he wasn't ready to reveal anything to their friends. The last thing she wanted was for them to find out accidentally–especially like this, with Grissom in her room, laying on her bed.

Sara sighed. _"Why_ are you a genius, Greg?" Looking around the hall, she suddenly noticed Nick. He was standing a few feet away, holding an ice bucket. "Hey, Nick," she said, smiling a little. "Why is Greg a genius?"

"Sorry." Nick shrugged. "I can't say, Sar. That would be stealing his thunder."

Greg beamed. "Thanks Nicky, I appreciate the courtesy."

Sara groaned. "Is this going to take awhile, Greg? Or are you going to tell me what the hell you're doing?"

"Ooooh, okay, okay, take it easy Miss Crankypants."

"I'm not cranky."

And she wasn't.

She just wanted to get back to Grissom.

"Okay, well, whatever," Greg said. "I'll tell you why I'm a genius, but you have to pay close attention."

Sara held back a chuckle. Greg reminded her of a two year old–one demanding for his parents to 'watch me, watch me!"

"Go, Greg. Tell me. Now," she said, as she eyed Nick and attempted to figure out what role he was playing in all of this.

"You're not paying attention," Greg told her. "You're looking at Nick."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Well maybe that's because he's standing in the middle of the hall, holding up an ice bucket." She studied the Texan closely. "You're not on your way to get ice are you?"

Nick shook his head, eyes sparkling.

Greg gave Sara an exasperated look and finally launched himself into an explanation. "It's called _Hall Ball,_" he blurted out, his voice loud and full of enthusiasm. "It's a game. I just made it up ten minutes ago!"

Sara's face was blank. "You made up a game called _Hall Ball?_"

"Yup."

She shook her head, just to make sure she was awake. "Greg–there's a million things to do on this ship, and a million things that you still have to eat at the buffet, and you're in the hallway, making up a game called _Hall Ball?_"

"Yeah. So?"

Sara turned back to Nick. "You're actually playing?"

He nodded. "Lindsey was going to, but she had a kid's program thing." He looked down at the ice bucket, pursing his lips. "It's actually kinda fun, Sar."

Sara let a giggle escape. "Fun? You're both officially crazy!"

"Come play," Greg urged. "You can nap later."

Sara shook her head quickly, biting back a bit of panic. "I, uh, I can't."

"Just one game? C'mon, it'll be good for you."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Greg. I'm really tired."

But Greg wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He grabbed her arm again, dragging her closer to Nick and the ice bucket. "The object of the game is to toss the beach ball at the ice bucket and get it to stay on the rim," he explained. "Nick was holding the bucket for practice shots, but in the game, the bucket will be on the floor, and it'll be all three of us against each other, fighting to get the ball and toss it at the bucket. The person with the most 'buckets' wins." He took a breath. "And if we get more people, then we can play it like basketball. We can get two ice buckets, and put them at opposite ends, and then have teams going at it."

Sara tried to figure it all out in her head, but one question was sticking out.

"Greg? Why was the beach ball _thumping_ against the wall?"

He tossed it at her, letting her catch it before declaring, "I put some water in it!"

"Water," Sara repeated, as she shook the ball a little. The water sloshed around inside.

"It makes everything a little more fun," Greg told her. "It was too light without the water, and c'mon–it's more interesting if there's a slight chance the ball will open up and you'll get wet."

Nick chuckled. "But we've gotta watch out for the thumping. We don't want to bother people we don't know, like that older couple Catherine and I disturbed a few days ago!"

"No, you just want to bother the people you _know._" Sara smacked him lightly. "I'm going back to have a nap, guys. Try not to be too loud, okay?"

"Sara, one quick game!" Greg insisted. He moved so that he was blocking her door. "Just one! For me."

Sara tried to reach for her door handle. She wondered if Grissom was listening on the other side. "Maybe another time, Greggo."

"Nope. Now."

"Greg..."

"Sara..."

She knew she was beat. It wasn't worth her energy to argue with him. She would rather conserve that energy for other things–other things that involved Grissom.

"Fine," she relented, knowing that Grissom would understand her predicament. She had only wanted to check out the noise, and now she was stuck–just so she wouldn't have to make up a convincing enough reason why she _had_ to go back into her room. "One game. One very short game," she muttered. "But that's it."

Greg and Nick were pleased.

On the other side of Sara's door, Grissom chuckled.

Quietly.

TBC

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews and e-mails! I really appreciate it. I hope you liked this chapter. Thanks for reading!

Jazz


	12. Stuck

Catherine was trying her very best not to leap up and strangle Jim Brass.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Jim chuckled uneasily, gesturing at Catherine with a shaking arm. "She's been waiting in here for awhile now and not even a peep." He sighed. "I'm the luckiest man the world."

Catherine forced a grin. "Oh, isn't he?" she gushed, wrapping her fingers around Brass' arm. She squeezed it hard, gritting her teeth. Brass fell into the seat next to her, his eyes darting around the lounge, coming to rest on everything but her. It had only been moments since the detective had introduced her as his fiancee, but in that time, he'd gone completely pale. Sensing his uneasiness and desperation, Catherine quickly decided to play along...and play hard.

She was going to save his ass, but she was going to make him suffer.

She relaxed a little, letting out a high-pitched giggle. "Jimmy, darling," she began, smiling broadly. "You know you can always take as much time as you want. I never mind waiting for you."

Jim's mouth dropped open.

Linda and Ellen gasped loudly.

"Well, isn't she adorable?" Ellen exclaimed, as she took the seat across from the "couple."

Linda sat down next to her, beaming. "I'll say," she quickly agreed. "What a sweetheart!"

_Adorable? Sweetheart? _Catherine tried not to show her disgust. The two women were staring at her like she was a big, fuzzy kitten. She cringed, hoping that she wasn't about to be called 'Cat' or 'Kitty.' She'd been called both names a few times in the past, but if she heard it now, she wouldn't be able to take responsibility for her actions.

"Sooooo, Cathy, how did you two meet?"

Linda was very lucky. She came close...

But not too close.

Catherine took a sip of her wine. "Ah, you know what? That's a funny story. In fact, you two won't believe it."

Brass gave her a nervous look. "They won't?"

The blonde CSI shook her head. "No, it's just one of those things. I mean, you never really expect to meet the love of your life at a sewing circle!"

Brass barely had time to hide his surprise. In only a split-second, Linda and Ellen were staring at him, wide-eyed.

"A sewing circle?" Ellen repeated, amazed. "Wow, Jim. That's impressive."

Linda blushed. "Attractive _and_ well-rounded!" she praised.

Catherine pretended to be slightly disturbed by Linda's comment. "He _is_ attractive, isn't he?" she said, reaching up to pinch his cheek and puckering her lips sweetly. "And he's all mine."

Linda and Ellen sighed in unison; they didn't seem discouraged by Catherine's presence–or behaviour–at all. Brass clenched his fists. The last thing he wanted was to endure Catherine's torture for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for Catherine's arm. "Well, _baby,_ weren't we going to head up to _our_ room before dinner?"

Catherine gave him a simple shrug. "I think we have tons of time for that later," she said slyly. "I'm fine here right now. I'm really enjoying Linda and Ellen's company. Besides, I'm sure they'd love to here more about the sewing circle."

The two women nodded vigorously.

Brass frowned. "They don't really want to know about all that mushy stuff–"

"Oh, we do, darlin'," Linda interrupted. "We love details, don't we, El?"

"The more the better!" Ellen replied.

"Well, good then," Catherine said, with believable enthusiasm. "Jimmy, honey, why don't you start?"

"Do I have to?"

A discrete but sharp elbow to the ribs gave him his answer.

"So, yeah," he said, trying to keep the grumble out of his voice. "I started attending the sewing circle–"

"On Saturdays," Catherine jumped in. "We went on Saturday nights. Everyone else was out partying, but not Jimmy."

"Thank-you, Catherine."

"You're welcome. Continue, Muffin."

"I will, Sweetpea." Brass gave her a quick, barely noticeable glare before plowing on. "I, um, I started going to the sewing circle to...to relieve stress. I needed a new, um, outlet. All my other _masculine_ activities weren't quite doing the job. I, well, I guess I found that it, uh, worked for me."

Catherine nodded. "Yes, and wouldn't you know it–he liked the circle so much that he joined up with a few of us women and started a tea group! That group meets on Friday nights."

"And to think you're missing both groups this week," Ellen said, almost sadly. "It's a good thing you're on a cruise, though. Not too much stress here."

Brass wanted to roll his eyes. "Nope, none at all," he muttered under his breath.

Catherine elbowed him again, and just as she was about to open her mouth and say more about the "tea group," Warrick sauntered into the lounge, drink in hand.

Catherine and Brass exchanged anxious glances.

"Hey," Warrick said casually, as he took the seat next to Brass. He studied the odd look on his face for a moment, eyeing him with suspicion."What's up?"

Jim cleared his throat. "Uh, Warrick. I'd, uh, I'd like you to meet _Linda_ and _Ellen._"

Warrick's eyes immediately widened, and Brass let out a sigh of relief.

He remembered.

"Oh..." The younger man nodded slowly, understanding. He stood and leaned over the small table, offering his hand to the two women. "Nice to meet you."

Linda and Ellen reached for his hand at the same time, fighting to be first.

"What a gentleman," Linda practically squealed.

Ellen quickly agreed. She gazed up at Warrick and licked her lips.

"Darlin,' are you in the sewing circle too?"

* * *

Sara slid down the glass wall of the elevator, landing in a heap on the floor. 

"I've never been stuck in an elevator before," she sighed to Greg, who was already on the floor, twiddling his thumbs and groaning every time his stomach rumbled. "I certainly never thought I'd be stuck in one like this, where everyone can see every move we make."

Greg nodded, gazing down at the lobby beneath them. They were stuck between Deck 7 and Deck 8, so they had a pretty good view of the bustling activity below them on Deck 4.

"I hear ya," he mumbled, reaching up to rub his temples. "It's like being in a cage at the zoo, with a 'don't feed the animals' sign right in front of us. Man, I'm starving."

Sara smiled weakly. "Relax, Greg. We won't miss dinner. It's only been five minutes; I'm sure they're already fixing the problem."

Greg looked unsure. "Hopefully it's not a bad problem."

"I'm sure it's not," Sara replied quickly, wanting to believe herself. "The ship is pretty new, so it's probably something that can be fixed right away. This is why they have technicians on board. We're just keeping them busy."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you're optimistic about this."

Sara shrugged. "It's been a good day."

"Does that mean you liked playing _Hall Ball?_"

She chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say that was the _highlight,_ but it wasn't all that bad."

"Wasn't all that bad?" he repeated, shaking his head. "I guess I'll take it."

"I suggest that you do," Sara said, smiling. "It's the best you're gonna get from me, considering the fact that you practically forced me to play."

"Forced you?" Greg sputtered. "Well, maybe I did, but it's only because I wanted some 'Sara time.' I really haven't had any since the first day of the trip."

Sara wasn't sure if Greg was serious, but she melted a little inside. He was her best friend, after all, and it was true: she hadn't been spending very much time with him.

She softened. "You're right, you know. I, uh, I didn't realize. I'm...sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Greg told her quietly. "I'm just saying...I miss hanging out with you."

She met his gaze, apologizing again silently.

"I know I haven't been very _tolerable,_" Greg continued. "I probably don't have to tell you that I can get kinda annoying when I'm having a good time–"

"Greg," Sara interrupted. "You don't have to explain anything. You're being _you._ I haven't been very good at showing it, but I _like_ 'annoying' Greg."

It was true; Greg annoyed her sometimes, but that was all part of their friendship. She loved their playful banter and all the tender moments...

Moments like this.

"You've, uh, you've been spending so much time with Grissom," Greg said carefully, before turning to humour and adding, "I didn't think I annoyed you _that_ much."

She laughed. "Grissom isn't as boring as you think," she replied. "He hasn't gone to the library in days."

"Really?" Greg thought for a moment. "Then what were you two up to earlier this evening? We couldn't find you anywhere. We didn't check the library; we just assumed you were both in there."

_Dammit!_

Sara swallowed back a lump of fear, her mind searching for an explanation.

"Um...we didn't do much," she managed. "We spent most of the time walking around the ship, so it would have been hard to find us. It's so big; you could spend all day looking for someone."

Sara knew she had over-explained, but Greg seemed to buy it.

"Oh, okay," was all he said.

She didn't let out her sigh of relief; she kept it hidden away. In truth, she and Grissom had spent the rest of the evening in her room, curled up on the bed. After she'd returned from playing _Hall Ball,_ they'd laughed about it for a good ten minutes, and then they'd napped in each other's arms. Then, to cover their bases, they had agreed to walk to the dining room separately and Grissom had returned to his own room. Only a few minutes later, Sara had met up with Greg in the hall on the way to dinner, and...

They had taken the elevator.

"Hey, there's Grissom now," Greg announced, pressing one fingertip against the glass.

Sara followed his pointed finger. "Yeah..." she said, as she watched him walk through the lobby. He was dressed in dress-pants, a dress-shirt, and a tie, and she couldn't take her eyes off of him. She hoped Greg wouldn't notice.

He didn't.

He was too busy staring in disgust at two other familiar people: Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown. The two men were taking seats in the lobby, Nick with a mischievous look on his face and Warrick holding a plate of appetizers. Greg remembered that Warrick had gone to the lounge, and clearly, he'd piled up on the hors d'oeuvres before leaving.

"That's not fair," Greg muttered, as his stomach growled again.

Sara finally managed to pull her gaze away from Grissom and she followed Greg's stare. "Wow," she said, eyes widening. "That's a lot of food."

"A lot of _delicious_ food," Greg clarified. "And they're just sitting there, eating it in front of us."

Sara had to admit that the food looked great. She was hungrier than she'd originally thought and now she was starting to understand how Greg was feeling.

"I hope they save some of those little veggie rolls for us," she said softly.

"And some of the meatballs," he added.

Sara made a face–at the thought of meatballs and at the fact that Nick and Warrick seemed very happy that they were stuck. "Hey," she said sharply. "Hey Greg, look–they're waving at us."

"And laughing!" Greg exclaimed, scowling. "They're doing this on purpose!"

Unlike Grissom, the two younger men were clearly aware that the elevator was stuck.

And they were obviously aware that Sara and Greg were the two people stuck in it.

"They probably think they're funny," Sara noted dryly. "But you don't mess with two hungry people! Especially not two hungry _friends._"

Greg glanced over at her, surprised. "You sound like me."

She gave him a wink. "I'm starving too." Then, she looked back down at Warrick and Nick, who were now eating and exaggerating their enjoyment. Warrick even gave them a sly smile as he dipped his shrimp into a bowl of sauce. He dangled it above his mouth and then dropped it in, chewing and shaking his head purposely in delight.

Sara shook her head. "You know what, Greg?"

"What?"

"I think I'm as mad about this as you are."

"Well then you must be really mad right now."

"I am."

Greg pursed his lips. "Do you by any chance feel like getting even?"

"Yep," she replied, grinning. "I already have a plan."

TBC

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing Chapter 11! Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed Lost Mind. I didn't get the review alerts until recently and I haven't had a chance to reply! It means a lot to me that you took the time to review! I'll try to post the next chapter soon!

Thanks!

Jazz


	13. Whale?

Grissom tipped his head to one side, carefully studying the mischievous gleam in Sara's eyes.

"Do I want to know?" he asked, as Sara stood up from his bed and smoothed her short skirt. She was still dressed in the same outfit she'd worn for dinner, and Grissom was still enjoying the view. She looked great. Radiant even. She'd been freed from the elevator two hours earlier, had made it to dinner, and had been sporting an 'I'm up to something' glow since then.

She stared at him, her eyes dancing.

Grissom leaned back against the desk and sighed.

Yep. She looked pretty damn beautiful.

Sara grinned. She had been watching him closely all evening, noticing his stare, the sparkle in his eyes. "You enjoyed dinner, didn't you?" she said, moving closer to him, slowly leaning in towards his chest.

He didn't move slowly. He reached out and pulled her into him, his lips crashing into hers.

"I'll take that as a yes, I guess," Sara mumbled quickly, during a short break for air.

Grissom kissed her again, deeply, and then shook his head. "Dinner was good," he whispered against her cheek, "but _that_ wasn't what I enjoyed..."

"Oh?"

Grissom pulled away, stroking Sara's hair, staring into her eyes again. "You're...uh..."

Sara gave him a cute glare. "Spit it out, Griss."

He nodded breathlessly. "You're...stunning, Sara. You look...you look beautiful."

She turned red in an instant, her gaze momentarily falling to the floor. "You're not looking so bad yourself," she laughed, reaching to squeeze his hand.

Grissom squeezed back and then placed his free hand on her cheek. "I'm being serious, Sara," he said calmly. "You look beautiful. You..._are_ beautiful.

"I'm being serious too," she countered. "I am..." She trailed off, leaning into his palm. It was difficult for her to keep her mouth shut, but she knew she had to clam up. Grissom was reaching out to her, telling her how he felt, and she was trying to shrug of the attention. It was a reflex. "I'm sorry..." she whispered, a moment later. "I'm just not used to–"

"Compliments?"

She shrugged. "I guess...I guess I'm not used to hearing things like that."

Grissom shook his head, a hint of sadness creeping into his eyes. He didn't say anything, he just squeezed her hand again.

"Thank-you," she said, accepting his words and falling into silence. The two of them stood in the stateroom together, standing close, breathing deeply.

Then, after a good two minutes, Grissom cleared his throat. "So...do I want to know?" he repeated. "Clearly, you're up to something. I could see you planning it in your head during dinner. I also noticed the glances at Greg. Let me guess–he's involved?"

Sara laughed. "You can be involved too."

"Ah, no thanks. I'm thinking I should sit this one–whatever it is–out."

"Well," she said, her voice low and husky. "I don't want you to think that I'm willing to waste _any_ of the time we have together."

"I don't think that. I'm sure this is very important."

"Uh, yeah. Actually, we really could use you..."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you_ need_ me..."

Sara kissed him quickly. "I always need you."

* * *

"Congratulations, Jim," Catherine said dryly. "You're officially free." 

Jim Brass shook his head. Somehow he doubted that. Even if Linda and Ellen had diverted all of their attention to Warrick and were now wandering around the ship trying to find him, he doubted that he was completely free of the two women. It just couldn't be that easy.

Could it?

"They'll be back," he said, depositing his empty glass on the bar. "Warrick's probably locked himself in his room, so they'll probably go down to the lobby, order him a fruit basket, realize how young he is, come to their senses, and then make their way back up here."

Catherine looked puzzled. "It sounds like you want them to," she said, draining her own glass. She set it down on the bar next to Jim's and then turned to face the detective. "Jim–we've been engaged for five hours. Tell me that my little 'act' helped you out, because it wasn't exactly a _good time_ for me."

"No, no, no, no, it helped. It did."

"So why are you moping? Shouldn't you be up at the disco, celebrating? Or eating? Or buying rounds? Or, hell, just _smiling?_"

He smiled obediently. "I'm happy. Look. I'm smiling. See?"

"You look like you're constipated."

"You sound like your daughter."

Catherine scowled. "C'mon Jim, what's going on?"

Brass sighed. "I dunno...I mean, I'm relieved. Now I can enjoy my vacation. I just didn't think I'd–"

"Be jealous?"

"Jealous?" he sputtered. "I'm not jealous."

Catherine smirked. "I think you are. Warrick swooped in to help you out and he ended up wooing Linda and Ellen away from you. Now they're all over him and you're jealous."

"Uh, Cath? Why would I _want_ two rambunctious, hormonal women to keep on stalking me?"

She pursed her lips and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Because it was flattering."

Brass looked at her, blinking. "What?"

"Sure, they're annoying," she elaborated, "but it must have been nice to have two women so interested in you."

He thought about that, shaking his head slowly. "I guess that part of it was..._okay_."

"I think it was more than okay."

Jim sighed. "Okay, it was _more_ than okay. It was _annoying,_ but I guess I, uh, liked it more than I thought I did."

Catherine squeezed his shoulder again, smiling softly. "Nothing wrong with that, Jim."

"Now, that being said," he continued, "I'm relieved that they're not going to be following me everywhere. I really am too old for this crap."

"That's not true," Catherine protested. "And hey–like you said–it might not be over. I'm pretty sure Warrick will shut them down pretty quickly, and then they'll come back to you." She winked. "Then maybe you can take some time to enjoy their attention."

He stared at his hands. "Yeah, I guess. We'll see. There's still the _annoyance_ factor..."

Catherine groaned loudly and let out a short laugh. "Oh God, they a_re_ annoying, aren't they? I can't believe some of the things they said!"

Brass winced. "I know. The scary thing is–if I decide that I'm not too old for this crap, I might not ever be able to do better than that."

"Jeez, Jim, give yourself some credit."

"You know–I'm quite good at being alone, having no one..."

"You have people, Jim. Seven of them are on this cruise with you."

He gave her a half smile. "True..."

"And you _do_ have a fiancee who's very willing to buy you another drink." She elbowed him playfully and then waved at the bar tender. "So what are you having?"

"Something strong. I have another round of Linda and Ellen to prepare for."

"Well then we better get you more than one."

* * *

Nick and Warrick were exactly where Sara and Greg wanted them: out on their balcony, chowing down on some chocolate squares from the late-night dessert buffet and gazing at the moonlight on the water. 

It was time to put the plan into action.

"Hey, guys!" Greg called out from the deck above. He leaned over his balcony railing and waved enthusiastically. "Whassup?"

"Yo, Greggo!" Warrick called back, his mouth half-full of chocolate. "Nicky and I are hiding out!"

"Why?"

Warrick's eyes widened in the darkness. "Brass' girlfriends have decided that I'm 'juicy.'"

"That's a direct quote," Nick called out, his mouth now full of chocolate. "I'm not kidding."

Greg almost snorted. "Wow," he called back. "I'd probably hide too."

With perfect timing, Sara appeared on her balcony. "Hey–did I hear you right? Are you being chased by Brass' girlfriends?"she yelled to Warrick.

The man nodded. "You heard right."

"Oh. Wow. I want the details! Greg and I are gonna come down; it's too hard to hear you from up here!"

Snickering, Greg nodded his agreement and then disappeared. He and Sara made their way down to deck 8, and arrived calmly at Nick and Warrick's room.

Nick let them in with a shrug. "Didn't think you guys would be interested in this," he said. "But hey, the more the merrier. C'mon in."

In truth, Greg and Sara weren't that interested. This Linda and Ellen thing was only making their revenge plan–which was actually quite simple–even easier. They had cooked up other ways to get Nick and Warrick into their room, but now they didn't have to use any of them. For once, Linda and Ellen were coming in handy.

"It's a pretty nice night," Sara said sweetly, as she stepped out onto the balcony. "No wonder you two wanted to sit out here."

"Yeah, it's nice," Nick said. "We haven't done much of this yet."

_You're gonna be doing a whole lot more of it,_ Greg sighed happily to himself. Then, being careful to hide his resentment from the earlier elevator 'incident,' he focussed his attention on listening for the next part of the plan.

The next part was already here, in the form of a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Nick said, stepping back into the room.

"No, no, that's okay," Sara said, stopping him. "Let me. I think it's Lindsey. I told her to come find me here. We're supposed to go swimming."

That wasn't a complete lie; Sara _had_ made plans with Lindsey to go swimming together. But those plans were for tomorrow.

Sara ducked into the stateroom and trotted to the door, opening it half-way.

Grissom stood in the hall, holding a gigantic platter of desserts. He didn't look impressed.

"You know I'd do anything to help you out, honey, but there are now five cruise line employees and nine guests who think I'm a complete animal. A pig, to be specific."

With a small giggle, she stared at the heaping platter. "Sorry. I never thought of that," she said, wincing. "But you did great. This is exactly what we need." Opening the door all the way, she let him in and pasted a look of surprise on her face. "Look who's here," she called to the boys.

"Grissom, man," Warrick grinned. "Good to see ya. You brought desserts! Perfect–we just ran out!"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, here." He moved towards the balcony, holding out the platter to Warrick.

Greg gasped and flew into the room. He whisked the platter away from Grissom–who clearly did not remember the fine details of the plan–and placed it on the dresser.

"I don't think I need to tell you, but Greg's hungry," Sara explained, covering for the younger CSIs obvious action. "He didn't have dessert after dinner."

"Right, yeah..." Grissom said, remembering now that he was supposed to give the platter to Greg. "We should probably let him have first choice." _Although there's about twenty of each item,_ he added under his breath.

"Wow, Greggo, good for you," Nick said, reaching inside the room to pat him on the shoulder. "You exercised some restraint. Nice."

"Ha. Ha." Greg grabbed a chocolate haystack brownie and shoved it into his mouth.

Nick and Warrick tried to come back into the room for desserts, but Greg was on his toes. Thinking quickly, he swallowed some of the chocolate in his mouth and then thrust his finger out towards the sea.

"Look, a whale!" he shouted.

"Whale?" Nick repeated, his mouth dropping. In a perfect moment of gullibility, he and Warrick dashed back onto the balcony, their eyes darting around in the darkness.

Greg and Sara jumped into action, grabbing the sliding door, pulling it shut and locking it quickly. Grissom watched with interest as the duo sat on one of the beds, the platter of desserts between them. Greg picked up another chocolate haystack brownie and held it, poised, at his mouth. When Nick and Warrick turned around to discover what had happened, he shoved it in his mouth, chewing it with a great big smile.

Sara waved at her two friends. "Glad you like it out there," she called to them, hoping they could hear her through the thick glass. "You're gonna be there for awhile!"

Nick and Warrick scowled and looked longingly at the platter. Then, Nick gave a little nod, acknowledging the revenge.

"Okay, we get it," he shouted. "We're sorry. Now will you let us in?"

"Nah," Greg replied, shaking his head. "I don't think so." He gestured toward the platter. "We have to finish this off first."

"That would take hours, man! Even for you!" Warrick called, his fist against the glass. "C'mon!"

Grissom cleared his throat, and to Greg and Sara's surprise, he spoke to the two locked-out CSIs. "There's an unlimited supply of desserts up there. I'm sure you can go up and get some in a couple hours."

Warrick gave Grissom a look that clearly said 'I can't believe you're in on this,' and then smiled in defeat. "Whatever," he said. "Nicky and I are fine out here. This doesn't bother us."

Nick elbowed his best friend. "Speak for yourself, 'Rick. I'm starving."

"Now you know how we felt," Sara said. She stood and with a friendly wave, she made her way out of the room, grabbing Nick's key on the way so she could come back later and let them in. Grissom and Greg followed her out.

Nick and Warrick collapsed into the lounge chairs on the balcony.

"Dude, we're locked out of our own room," sighed Nick.

"Yeah. They got us," chuckled Warrick. He was pissed off, but he respected his friends' efforts. And Grissom's involvement.

"We'll just have to get them back, somehow," mused Nick.

"Uh, no," Warrick replied quickly. "Hell, if they've got Grissom on their side, who knows what they'd be capable of. I certainly don't want to know. I'm thinking we should call it even."

"You have a point."

Before they could decide on anything, they heard a familiar voice from above.

"Hey!"

A loud giggle.

"Hey!"

Rolling his eyes, Nick stood and looked up.

It was Lindsey, peering over her balcony railing, grinning wildly, pointing and laughing.

"Haha, you guys suck!" she shouted gleefully.

Nick turned to Warrick. "Was everyone in on this?" he wondered out loud. Warrick shrugged, and Nick turned back to Lindsey. He was about to beg the girl to get her mother to help them, but Catherine appeared and yanked Lindsey back into their room, telling her not to yell at night. Both mother and daughter had disappeared before Nick could open his mouth. Clearly, Catherine had no idea they were locked out.

Nick sank back into the chair.

"Yeah," he said, in defeat. "We're gonna be here for awhile."

TBC

Author's note: after a long break, I've decided to keep on writing my CSI stories. At least, I'm going to try! You have all been so incredibly supportive, and I really want to finish these for you! I may write a few one-shots as well. Thanks for everything, and I will reply to any feedback! You guys are amazing! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Jazz


	14. Suspicious Minds

"Are you listening to me, Sar?"

A splash.

"Uh, Sara? Earth to Sara!"

Another splash.

With a content sigh, Sara reached up to wipe the drops from her sunglasses. Then, reluctantly, she let her toes slip under the surface of the water, pulling herself into a standing position.

Lindsey stared at her with wide eyes. "You stopped talking," she said, as if it was the weirdest thing Sara could have ever done. "Why'd you do that?" She took a breath, but didn't wait for an answer. "Man, you gotta be careful. If I wasn't with you, people would have thought you were dead and they would have jumped in here and pulled you out, and then they would've tried to give you CPR right here, even if you didn't really need it. That can really hurt you, you know. My friend has this friend who has a cousin who almost drowned when he was six. His ribs were broken because of C–"

"Lindsey!" Sara finally interrupted, rolled her eyes and flicked some of the pool water at the chatty girl. "I'm fine. Really. It's okay; I would have stopped them before they tried any of that. I was just floating and...relaxing. I _was_ listening; then I just zoned out for a bit."

"Oh." Lindsey pursed her lips. "Well, I guess that's okay."

Sara grinned and then hoisted herself out of the pool and onto the side, so that her feet dangled in the salt water. "The last thing I remember you saying had something to do with making bracelets."

"Right! The bracelets!" Lindsey started to twirl in the water, dancing around at Sara's feet. "So Charlotte and I are gonna make a whole bunch of friendship bracelets today, and they're gonna be sweet 'cause at the teen centre, they have all these really cool, bright colours..."

Ugh, it was hopeless.

As Lindsey chattered away, Sara felt herself zoning out again.

She could only focus on one thing–or one person, for that matter: Grissom.

The way he smelled fresh after spending hours walking up on the top deck.

The way he held her gently when she was seasick.

The way he looked at her on formal night, while she desperately tried to breathe–not only because of the dress, but also the exhilaration she felt in his presence.

And the way he smiled at her and told her that all of this was for real.

She wondered what he was doing right at that moment, even though she knew. He was with Brass in the art gallery, checking out a piece that apparently 'absolutely required his interpretation.' And yet she was wondering what he was saying; how his eyes looked as they scanned the art; if he was tipping his head to the side to get a better look; when he would come back to her...

Lindsey's giggle brought her back for a moment...

Just a moment.

At just the right time.

"...I can't believe how funny he is! You know–I like the bright pink because pink is my favourite and really, it stands out like no other colour. But I'm not sure Greg's into pink bracelets. What colour do you think he'll want?"

Sara blinked behind her sunglasses and tried not to laugh. "That's very nice of you to make one for Greg. I'm sure he'll love it, no matter what colour you choose."

"Hey–what about me? Do I get a bracelet?"

With a spiteful laugh, Lindsey shook her head and dove under the water. As she again wiped the water from her sunglasses, Sara looked up to see Nick pulling a lounge chair closer to her.

"Ah, good morning, Nicky. I didn't expect to see you out in the open air so soon."

He gave her a playful glare and sat down. "Oh c'mon, _anyone_ would be unfazed by only three short hours on a balcony. You should've made us stay out there longer. We would've made it through with no problems at all."

"Okay, Captain Let-Us-In-Now-Before-I-Pee-Over-The-Side-Of-The-Ship."

Nick grimaced. "If I'd known you'd be quoting me, I would've kept that comment to myself."

"Clearly."

He swatted her lightly, and she laughed, knowing that he was just playing her. Lindsey, however, had resurfaced and was–to their surprise–taking it all very literally.

"You _deserved_ to be locked out, Nicholas Stokes. After what you did to Greg!"

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what about me?"

"And Sara!" Lindsey quickly added.

Nick gave the girl a smile. "It was all in fun, Lindsey. Don't you worry."

"Well..." she sputtered, looking only half-serious now. "Well...you should make sure Greg is okay with everything. I mean...you and Warrick tease him a lot! I have a friend who had a friend who just stopped talking to her because–"

"We'll make sure Greg's okay," Sara said, stopping her again. She looked at her watch. "Hey–it's almost ten. I told your mom we'd meet her back at your room."

Lindsey nodded. "I'll get my stuff."

After throwing Nick another glare, Lindsey hopped out of the pool and went to find her towel.

Nick looked at Sara. "What was that all about?"

"Well, she seems to dislike you, Nick," Sara said, smiling sweetly. "And she seems to like someone else a whole heck of a lot."

"Think she has a crush on Greg?"

Sara thought for a moment before saying, "I don't know if it's so much of a crush as it is a big-brother-hero-worship-admiration kind of thing."

Nick grinned. "So she thinks about Greg the same way you think about me?"

This time, Sara swatted Nick.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Grissom found himself staring at a painting and not even thinking about its meaning. Brass was yammering on and on about the artist's message and how it was impacting his perspective of the apparent love square between him, Warrick, Linda, and Ellen, and Grissom was just not paying attention. All he saw was a big blob of purple paint. And all he was thinking about was how beautiful Sara looked in purple. And red. And black. And brown. And blue... 

"...so, Gil, I'm really torn up here. Do you think I'm overthinking all of this? I mean, I don't really like art that much so I'm not sure why this piece is speaking to me. Ugh. I'm stumped. Is the artist saying 'go for it, Jim. You're still a young, hip, chick magnet at heart,' or is the artist just saying 'I really like purple'?"

Grissom came back into the present only because of Brass' pure insanity. He stared at the detective, who was gazing at the purple blob as if it held all the answers in the world.

Grissom shook his head. "Do you have a fever?" he asked in disbelief, bringing one palm to his friend's forehead.

"No." Brass smacked Grissom's hand away. "I'm contemplating. Am I not allowed to contemplate the direction of my life?"

"I'm sorry, Jim, I'm just really confused...I thought you were hiding from these women, not seeking them."

"I thought so too, Gil," Brass sighed. "I thought so too."

With a firm hand on his friend's shoulder, Grissom led them out of the art gallery. "That painting did not 'absolutely require my interpretation,' Jim," he said dryly. "I think _you _absolutely require my interpretation. Am I correct?"

Brass hesitated before agreeing. "Yeah. I was talking to Catherine about it–" he stopped, remembering something important. "Oh, and by the way, if you're talking to Linda and Ellen, could you casually mention to them that Catherine and I aren't really married?"

"You and Catherine were pretending to be married?"

"Long story."

"I should think so."

"Anyway," Brass continued, "I was talking to Catherine and she helped me realize that I might actually benefit from a 'fling' with either Linda or Ellen or...both. Sure, they're annoying as hell, but when do I ever really let loose?"

Grissom's eyes widened. "Were you drinking last night?"

Brass nodded. "Heavily."

"Okay...and you still feel the same way this morning, now that you're sober?"

"Yes. I think. I was hoping to get some advice or confirmation from somewhere, anywhere..."

"Like from that purple painting?"

"Yeah. I'm desperate."

Grissom stopped in front of the elevators and pressed the call button. "Listen, Jim, I–I don't know what to tell you. I'd suggest taking a long nap or a shower, or something that will help you clear your mind, and then if you, uh, still feel the same way, I'd suggest practising what you preach. Wasn't it you who was telling me to relax and enjoy my vacation a couple days ago?"

Brass gave him a humble nod.

"Well, then, take your own advice and just make your decision and go with it. They're, uh, _interesting_ women." He paused, searching Brass' eyes and wondering when in the last three days his friend had become crazy enough to pursue Linda and Ellen. "If you, uh, you want any more advice, I'd keep talking to Catherine. I'm here for you, but this really isn't my _thing_."

To Grissom's surprise, Brass' troubled expression almost instantly dissolved into a sly half-smile. "Really, Gil? See–I think you're holding out on me, pal."

Before Grissom could process that comment, one of the many elevators arrived with a ding. The doors immediately opened to reveal an impatient-looking older woman with pouffy grey hair. The woman cleared her throat.

"Are you going up, sonny? Or are you just going to stand there?"

Brass cringed; he'd heard that voice before. "Better get going, Gil. Mustn't keep this nice lady waiting."

Grissom studied Brass carefully as he stepped into the elevator. "Yeah...yeah. I'll talk to you later." The doors closed and Brass disappeared.

But his words lingered.

* * *

Sara grinned when Grissom let himself into her room. She'd given him her extra key the night before, and now she was absolutely loving the fact that he was using it. She was standing in the bathroom, and with one hand busy towelling her hair dry, she used the other to quickly reach out and grasp his fingers as he came through the door. 

Giving his hand a squeeze, she pulled him into the bathroom with her. "I missed you," she said, cursing the long hour they'd been away from each other and letting the towel fall to her feet. Her lips were mingling with his before either of them could take another breath.

"I...missed...you too..." Grissom gasped, before burying his face in Sara's freshly washed hair. She smelled like citrus and fresh air and all the other wonderful things in the world.

She pulled away to smile at him, to gaze deeply into his blue eyes. "So what did Brass want?" she asked, reaching for her brush. Her fingers searched the counter for the familiar object, but she couldn't find it. She almost jumped in surprise when she felt the brush glide through her hair.

"Let me?" Grissom asked softly, running it gently through her wet strands. His fingers followed the brush, trailing along lightly, massaging her.

She melted, her knees going weak, and once again she had to remind herself that this was really happening. She watched in the mirror, adoring the way they both looked together, right at that moment.

"Brass is having a mid-life crisis," Grissom said, a minute later, bringing Sara back to the edge of her cloud but not by any means down from it. She was still floating happily, eyelids drooping.

_How could anyone be having a mid-life crisis right now?_ she silently gushed.

"It seems Brass is now jealous of Warrick and has developed a bit of a crush on a very unlikely pair."

Sara's eyes flew open. "No way! Linda and Ellen?"

"Yes. And now he wants to know if he should go for it."

Sara thought about it and then said, "I think he's crazy, but maybe he should. There's no harm in it."

"As long as he doesn't bring them to our table at dinner," added Grissom.

"Or anywhere else we may happen to be," Sara finished.

Grissom finished with her hair, and dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head, he put the brush down on the counter. "Sara..."

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed.

"Sara...Brass said something else too. Something that makes me think that he's...suspicious."

As Grissom repeated Brass' words, the red in her cheeks disappeared instantly and she went almost completely white. "Are you worried about it?" she asked hesitantly, her voice small, distant.

He took a deep breath and Sara braced herself.

"No."

Sara blinked rapidly.

_Did he just say no?_

"No, honey, I'm not worried about it. I refuse to worry about it."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "You do?"

"Yes. God, Sara, you have no idea how much I want to tell everyone. I wish I could just tell them exactly how much I care about you. I wish it was easy and I wish we wouldn't have to deal with any repercussions when we go back to work, but it's not, and we will have to face those challenges."

She shivered, leaning into him, tucking her head under his chin. "I know."

"But," he continued, kissing the top of her head again. "We don't have to worry about that right now. I don't care how many suspicious minds there are on this ship; I'm not giving up any time that I could be spending with you. So as long as you're okay with it...let's not even think about it until we have to."

With relief surging through her body, Sara reached up, running her fingers along his cheek. "I like the sound of that."

TBC.

Author's Note: Wow, it's been so long. I'm sorry! I hope you're still reading this. The next chapter is already on its way. Thanks so much for all the feedback. You are all wonderful!

Jazz


	15. Cornered

The next time Grissom encountered Brass, he wasn't in a position to inquire any further about the detective's earlier comment. And, unfortunately, he wasn't in a position to spend some quality alone-time with Sara either. He was only in a position to completely embarrass himself.

With a golf club in one hand and a red ball in the other, Grissom looked at Catherine with dismay. "I don't play minigolf," he said with a frown. "I really don't think you want me on your team."

Catherine immediately shrugged. "Hey, it's not just you. I think Brass is the only one who said he was any good, besides Greg of course. And don't worry about it; we drew for teams–so it's fair. We're just lucky Nicky didn't end up with us as well."

Grissom looked over at Nick who was taking a very unsuccessful warm-up putt. He laughed as his ball went flying across the ship's small minigolf course, and Grissom gave a silent thanks–for more than one reason–that Sara had ended up with him and Catherine.

Nick stopped laughing and grimaced. "Greg, man, you better know how to play...really well."

Greg's eyes sparkled. "Are you doubting my pro-golfer abilities?"

"Uh..."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. You think I would've insisted on a bet if I wasn't the world champion of mini-golf?"

"Yes," Jim Brass spoke up loudly. "You don't always think things out, Sanders."

Greg pretended to be hurt while he led his team–consisting of Brass, Warrick and Nick to the first hole.

"Speaking of that bet," Warrick said, placing his white ball on the fake green, "I think we need to tweak it a little."

"Ugh, I think we need to tweak it _a lot,_" laughed Sara. "There's no way I'm performing in the ship's talent show!"

_Talent show?_

Grissom's eyes shot open. "Wait a minute," he hissed. "That was the bet? What happened to the losing team buying the winning team t-shirts?"

Warrick winced. "We looked in the gift shop and we didn't see any we particularly liked, so–"

Grissom cut him off. "Where was I when this changed?" he demanded.

"In the washroom," Catherine clarified. "It doesn't matter though. We out-voted you. Sara objected and we knew you would, so that makes it five to two."

"Yeah, well, Warrick's not _allowed_ to make bets, so–"

"That would make it four to two," Warrick jumped in, "because I'd be dropping out, not switching my vote." He chuckled and patted his supervisor on the back. "Nice try though. Very resourceful."

Grissom sighed, and for a moment, he thought about refusing to play. But then he looked over at Sara and remembered all the wonderful chances he'd already taken on this cruise. And in addition to what he had just seen from Nick, Warrick had revealed a couple days earlier how "surprisingly" terrible he was at mini-golf. Not _golf. Minigolf._ Apparently, there was a somewhat of a difference. Grissom hadn't bothered to inquire.

Figuring that he wasn't completely dooming himself to the talent show, Grissom nodded hesitantly. "Fine," he said. "But before we begin I'd like to take a moment to thank Greg for yet another wonderful idea, and to remind him that I could kill him and not even be a suspect."

Not knowing whether to laugh or be afraid, Greg bit his lip and smiled. "Well, you are the best there is at _uncovering _crimes; I would assume that you would be just as good at covering them up." He took a small step towards Grissom and gave him a flourish. "I bow down to you."

Brass elbowed Greg sharply. "That's enough, Sanders. We have some winning to do."

Warrick was already making his first putt when Grissom locked gazes with Sara.

"We could never be in a talent show," Sara whispered with a relaxed giggle. "What would we do? Show the audience how to process a crime scene?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "Well that's what I had in mind. That or recite Shakespeare."

"I figured." She blushed until her entire face was glowing. "But unfortunately you missed that part of the bet too...Catherine and Brass decided that if you lose, you aren't allowed to do either of those things."

Grissom paled. "Then tell me we're not going to lose, Sara."

She grinned and tossed her blue ball once into the air, catching it again with ease. "Let's just say that what the guys don't know _will_ hurt them."

He took a deep breath and fought the now familiar, overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. "_You_ play mini-golf?"

She shrugged. "You told me to get a diversion."

She winked at him, and just as he was winking back, Catherine appeared, swinging her golf club in her hand.

"What's with the winking?" she asked, eyeing both Sara and Grissom carefully. "You two have a, uh, secret or something?"

Grissom just gave Catherine a blank look and moved to set up his first putt. "Remind me again why this was such a great idea?"

Sara appeared at his side. "Team-building, Grissom."

"Competition within a team isn't always team-building. In fact, it can often lead to the contrary. I don't know about you but I feel like I might have some enemies after this." He licked his lips and sent his ball straight to the first hole. He watched with anticipation and surprise as it went in.

His eyes shot open. "Interesting..." he breathed.

"Grissom!" Sara yelped. "You got a hole in one!"

He stood, still staring at the hole. "That's all there is to it?" he asked, before sauntering back to Sara and Catherine.

"Yep, that's all," Catherine affirmed. "Just keep doing it! I don't mind performing in the talent show, but winning would be much better!"

From the other side of the first hole, Greg was already groaning. "Man, why does he have to be good at everything?"

* * *

An hour later, both teams were finishing the eighteenth hole and emotions were running high...and low. Grissom and Sara were both determined to win, since they had both played exceptionally well through the entire game; Catherine was only putting in half an effort because of a bunch of bad scores, a broken fingernail, and a sudden, strong desire to see her own teammates in a talent show; Nick was mad at himself for playing terribly, blaming the gentle sway of the ship for his bad score, and continually reminding everybody how macho he was in every other sport; Warrick didn't care anymore since his score was in the middle of the pack and was going to be dropped because his team had an extra person; Greg was busy giving Grissom and Sara a run for their money and playfully taunting them at every possible moment; and Brass was playing very successfully on auto-pilot, since his mind was fully occupied with thoughts of Linda and Ellen. 

As Grissom set up for the last hole, Greg was doing a victory dance in the corner of his eye. "You _have_ to get this in two strokes Grissom, or Sara doesn't stand a chance!"

Gritting his teeth, Grissom sighed. Greg was right. The other team had just finished and now it was up to him to keep his team in the game. They only had three strokes to play with. He would have to get his ball in the hole in two strokes or less and then the pressure would be on Sara to win the game. They had been ahead after the seventeenth hole, but Catherine had already taken 6 strokes on the eighteenth, putting them behind Greg's team.

"Come on, Grissom, you can do it," Sara encouraged him softly. "Send it right into the hole."

He nodded, his face full of concentration. That was his thing after all. _Concentration._

_All I have to do is hit it with just the right amount of force..._

Click.

His club connected with the red ball, sending it down to the eighteenth hole.

"Come on..." he muttered under his breath, urging the ball along.

But the ball stopped.

Right on the edge of the hole.

Sara let out a sigh of relief. "That's okay, Griss. You'll get it in two."

And he did.

Grissom tapped the ball in and then looked at Sara, his eyes apologizing for putting her in this position. She would have to get a hole in one for them to win and avoid the talent show.

"Haha," Greg cackled as he patted Grissom on the back. "Whaddya thinking about now?"

"Ways to get off this ship," Grissom replied dryly. Then, he stared Greg down. "Have you ever heard of good sportsmanship, Greg?" Considering his question to be clearly rhetorical, he didn't wait for an answer. "I suggest you start cheering for Sara...that is, if you'd like to keep your job for awhile. I think I hear test tubes and lab coats calling your name."

With a sheepish grin, Greg instantly caved. "Of course, Grissom. Go Sara go."

She was already doing just that. With confidence in her eyes and absolutely no hesitation, Sara sent the blue ball rolling...

Right into the hole.

And to Grissom's delight, Greg, Warrick, Nick, and Brass became very occupied whining to each other, and Catherine was instantly and completely focussed on making fun of them. So he wandered to Sara's side, leaned in close, and whispered softly, his warm breath on her cheek.

"Nicely done, honey."

* * *

"Where is the hero of the hour?" Catherine called, her voice accompanied by a rhythmic knock-knock on Sara's door. 

Sara–who had been expecting Grissom–groaned on the couch.

"Sara?"

"I'm here, Cath," she called back, trying to sound enthusiastic. She would have stayed quiet and pretended that she wasn't there, but she knew Catherine had watched her go into her room only ten minutes earlier. She'd told the older woman that she needed to "freshen up," but she'd actually been hoping for some time alone with Grissom.

Glancing at her watch, Sara moved to open the door.

_Two minutes._

In two minutes, Grissom was supposed to come, and they were supposed to spend long minutes on her couch, or on her balcony, or on her bed–

"Hi, Cath."

Sara found herself face to face with Catherine, who appeared–by the expression on her face–to be on a mission.

The blonde gave her an animated smile. "How's the champion mini-golfer?" she said, inviting herself in.

"Same as I was ten minutes ago," Sara replied, faking a yawn. "Except now I'm getting really tired. It must be from the effort it took to make up for your bad scores."

"Ouch," Catherine replied, flopping down on Sara's couch. "I totally deserve that."

"You really wanted to see Grissom and I in the talent show," Sara said with short laugh. "I can understand why. I mean, it's not everyday you have the opportunity to see that happen."

"And I probably never will now." She shrugged. "But hey, had to try."

Sara wasn't able to hide her smile. It was all rather funny; especially since she'd won anyway. "I guess I forgive you," she said, sitting down next to Catherine and rolling her eyes.

Catherine stared her down. "Really? That easy, huh? How uncharacteristic of you, Sara. Uh, forgive me again for saying this, but if we were at home, we'd probably have a few strong words over something like that."

"What can I say? The cruise is helping me loosen up."

To Sara's horror, Catherine winked at her.

"The cruise, huh? I have to agree, it's helping me loosen up too. But, uh, not as much as it's helping you."

Sara felt the heat in her cheeks first, and then it spread rapidly through her whole body. "Uh, yeah, well, I don't know, really, maybe it's just the first time I've, uh, done something like this, and–"

Catherine put a hand up to silence her. "Relax. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

_Too late,_ Sara mumbled to herself, as she took a deep breath.

Catherine bit her lip, and then slowly reached for Sara's hand, patting it a few times. It was an awkward moment, but strangely enough, Sara felt comforted.

"I want you to know," Catherine began slowly, "that you can talk to me about anything you might need to talk to me about."

_What?_ Sara's face went pale. "Catherine?"

"I mean it, Sara."

Stalling for the time she needed to process Catherine's words, Sara smirked. "How uncharacteristic of you, Catherine."

The other woman tossed her head. "I know, I know, but...I mean it."

Sara narrowed her eyes, studying her carefully and quickly coming to the conclusion that she knew more than Sara was comfortable with. Feeling very uncertain as to her next step, Sara stood and changed the subject.

"Where's Lindsey?"

But for the first time that day, Catherine was on her game. Her gaze met Sara's with a surprising degree of friendliness.

"She's hanging out with Charlotte at the teen centre. And don't change the subject."

Sighing, Sara collapsed onto the couch. "Okay...what do you want to know?"

"It's not what _I _want to know. It's what I want _you _to know." Her voice was gentle, just like her eyes.

"I'm listening."

Catherine nodded. "Okay. Good. Well, you should know that if what I think is happening is really happening, then you can trust me enough to talk to me about it. Because..."

"Because?"

"Because, as Martha Stewart would say, it's a good thing. I know that must surprise you."

Sara couldn't breathe.

Here she was, on the couch, with Catherine of all people, about to reveal everything. She was cornered. Absolutely cornered. And for some reason–one that she couldn't understand and didn't want to try to–she was relieved.

"I, um, I...we, uh..."

She tried to speak, but her words were caught in her throat and her brain was fuzzy. But she didn't have to try for long, because the sound of a key–Grissom's key–in the automated lock, gave Catherine all the confirmation she needed. Grissom's presence in the room a moment later sealed the deal.

Catherine looked at Grissom with a grin.

He stared back at her in shock.

Sara, her lips pressed together and her eyes wide, looked up innocently at Grissom.

"Catherine knows."

TBC

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have a question that I hope someone can answer. Is this story now AU because Grissom and Sara are now together on the show and got together in a certain way (canon)? That shows how long this story has been going. I started it way before they were together. I better get it finished, lol. Thanks for all the feedback! Thanks also to Ash, who is hugely busy right now but is still editing for me. You are all amazing!

Jazz


	16. Men In Bathrobes

"Catherine knows."

Sara's words echoed through the small room for a moment before hitting Grissom with the force of a truck.

His mind reeled. _Catherine knows. She __**knows.**_His stomach flipped._ And if she knows...then everyone will eventually know. _The woman had been his friend for years and years, but good God, she couldn't keep a secret to save her life. _Dammit._

Grissom let out a long breath, eyeing Catherine carefully. "I...I see that," he finally answered, his mind still reeling in an effort to decide what to do next. With a soft gaze, he studied Sara's expression, which mirrored his own.

"It's okay, honey," he sighed, and she nodded, understanding his words, his gentle expression.

It _would_ be okay.

She gave him a tight smile. "Bad timing," she said, giving him some sort of an explanation, even though she knew that it wasn't necessary. There was no blame in his eyes. "I knew you were coming, and I tried to pretend I was tired so she'd go away." She winced, still smiling. "I should have tried harder to get her to leave, but once she started talking, I knew something was up..."

"Don't worry about it," Grissom said softly. "It's okay."

"She was on to us."

"Well, she does have excellent observation skills."

There was a cough.

"I'm still _here,_" Catherine reminded them with a short, dry laugh. She shifted on the couch, crossing her arms. "And I'm thinking I shouldn't be?"

Grissom and Sara turned to her, both of them blushing wildly.

"Look," she told them both, holding her hands up in the air. "I know what you're both thinking right now and, given my past behaviour, I don't blame you. But you don't have to worry; I won't tell anyone."

Grissom and Sara both raised an eyebrow.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Okay, with the exception of Brass..."

"B-Brass?" Grissom sputtered. "Why would you feel the need to–"

"He's as suspicious as me...or as suspicious as I _was_...until now," Catherine interrupted, wearing a triumphant grin."He totally knows."

"Totally?" Sara repeated, questioning the older woman's choice of words.

Catherine just held up a hand again, as if to stop her. "Don't mock me. I've been sharing a small stateroom with my daughter for days. Give me a break.."

"Give _us_ a break, Catherine," Grissom argued, his voice firm. "We need time to figure out how we're going to deal with this."

"You certainly do," she agreed, standing. "Don't let me keep you. I'm going to get some of that amazing chicken pizza to celebrate–all by myself of course." She trotted excitedly over to the door. "And by the way...Sara forgot to tell you that I think it's wonderful."

She left him standing there, wearing a blank look on his face.

"Griss," Sara said uneasily. "Uh...now what?"

He turned to her, moving quickly to pull her into his arms. "It had to happen at some point," he whispered to her, stroking her hair. "We'll figure it out."

Sara bit her lip and began to tremble in his arms. Nervously, Grissom pulled away to study her face. His hands made their way to her face, cupping her cheeks.

"Honey...what is it?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, shrugging away the emotion that threatened her. "I just...hoped this wouldn't happen here. I knew they were suspicious but I was hoping that it wouldn't. Everything's been so perfect." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I don't want it to change. I don't want you to...get scared."

He pulled her in close again, shaking his head firmly, confidently. "Sara, I wish I could promise you that I won't get scared, but I can't..."

She cringed.

But then he went on.

"I can't...because I already am. And you are too. And, sweetheart, it's not a bad thing. It's a _good_ scary feeling, for all of the right reasons." The pressure of his arms increased as he hugged her hard, resting his cheek on her hair. "I wasn't sure exactly how I'd feel when this happened, but I didn't think I'd feel so sure about this, so relieved. I'm _relieved_, Sara," he told her, discovering it all himself as the words left his mouth. "I'm so relieved. There's a lot to figure out, like we said, but it's so...so scary in a wonderful way."

She didn't let her tears fall. Instead, they gathered in her eyes until her brown orbs sparkled. She was sure that he didn't need to see her eyes to know exactly how she felt; he would certainly be able to feel it through every other part of her.

She was weightless, her mind spinning with fright and excitement, her heart full of relief just like his. She suddenly found herself laughing in his arms–still trembling wildly.

"So when do you think everyone else will find out?" she asked. "I mean, if Catherine actually keeps her mouth shut."

"I think we should let them discover it for themselves," Grissom suggested warmly. "And play with their minds as much as possible."

She grinned.

* * *

Sporting the white bathrobes from their staterooms and giant, sly smiles, Nick, Warrick, and Greg waded through the crowded lobby, passing the paintings, sculptures, elegant furniture, well-dressed guests, glass stairs and elevators, towering waterfalls and greenery.

"Man, this is so wrong," Warrick said, with a low chuckle. "Everyone's staring at us."

"Would you stop listening to your conscience, please?" Greg huffed, leading the way through. "Stop thinking and enjoy this. We're gonna have the best picture in the gallery!"

Nick–who had been right into the idea until now–froze. "Okay, seriously, Greg. Everyone is staring at us. I feel like we're breaking the law here."

"It's only a couple more feet to the photographer, Nicky. Relax."

His sly smile gone, Nick looked at Warrick with wide eyes. "Greg doesn't think we're taking the robes _off_ for this picture, right 'Rick?"

"Well I'm certainly not. I'm not spending the rest of the cruise locked up somewhere for indecent exposure."

"Does _Greggo_ know that?"

"I think so," he replied, watching as Greg greeted the photographer who was manning the station that day. He was already on a first name basis with most of them, as he had stopped in to have a picture taken with various people at least once a day–mostly with Lindsey...and once with a disgruntled Grissom. He was very proud to have a steadily growing collection of 'souvenir photographs,' each with a different theme. His favourite so far was the one that had been taken upon their arrival in Grand Cayman. He'd posed–somewhat inappropriately, but not to the point where it crossed the line since Lindsey had been present–with a gigantic bear wearing a Grand Cayman shirt.

And today, there was the potential for Greg to have a new favourite photo...

Warrick stopped dead in his tracks. "Man, no way! You _know_ how I feel about anything involving the _Titanic_."

"It's just a backdrop," Greg rationalized. "And you know this ship has enough lifeboats for everyone. We did the drill."

"Yeah, the drill you weren't even taking seriously?" Warrick argued. "It's not a joke, you know."

Greg grimaced. "I think I've heard that before."

Nick stepped in, moving closer to Warrick to offer him some support. "It really bothers you, doesn't it? You were a little crazy after the drill."

"I'm fine, I just don't want to think about the _Titanic_, that's all. Especially since today is an entire day at sea."

Greg pouted. "One picture, Warrick? Just one? Just the three of us in our pristine white robes on the main staircase of the doomed ship?"

"Stop being dramatic, Greg. Save it for the talent show," Warrick said, rolling his eyes and stepping in front of the backdrop. "One picture only."

Nick and Greg quickly jumped in, sandwiching Warrick. "Okay Artie, take it!" Greg called to the photographer.

The short man took the picture and then Nick and Warrick stepped to the side, while Greg acted out various scenes from _Titanic_ the movie, giving the photographer a few 'interesting' poses.

"Thanks, Artie," Greg called as he left what had become his 'stage.'

"No problem, Mr. Sanders!" Artie called, his voice jolly. "They'll be up in the gallery in about twenty minutes!"

Warrick shook his head as they walked away. "The people here have too much patience for you, Greggo."

"I know, it's heaven," he sighed.

"Speaking of heaven," came a high-pitched female voice. "I see a glimpse of it right in front of me."

_Crap._ Warrick groaned inwardly as Ellen approached, Linda in tow. They were both wearing see-through pink dresses, with pink bathing suits underneath. On their heads, they wore pink wide-brimmed hats, and around their waists, they were sporting pink fanny packs. Pink lipstick topped everything off like a cherry on a sundae.

"I think I might vomit," Greg whispered to Nick, who let out a short laugh. "And yet I have a strange craving for cream soda..."

"Warrick, dear," Linda gushed. "Have you seen Jimmy at all today?"

"Uh, I saw him earlier," Warrick stammered, as he inched away from the blob of pink. "I think he might be having a nap?"

"Oh well, thanks, Pookie. We'll have to catch him later."

"Okay, sounds good. We'll see ya later then?" Warrick was ready to make his break for it, and he was prepared to do anything necessary to make that happen."I'm on my way to have a shower," he said gesturing at the bathrobe. "Have a nice day, ladies..."

"Oh not so fast my little muffin," Ellen said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "Since we can't find Jimmy, I won't have a partner for the salsa lesson. It starts in twenty minutes...and I really need you, Cutiepie."

Warrick was shocked, though he knew he should have been expecting something like this. Linda and Ellen were certainly not strangers at this point. "You want me to dance with you?"

"Well I can't be her partner," chuckled Linda. "I only do Hip Hop these days."

"Hip Hop?"

Linda winked. "You bet, sexy thing. Care for a demonstration in my stateroom a little later?"

Nick and Greg nearly lost it, their faces turning bright red in concealed amusement.

Nick moved further behind Warrick so the ladies wouldn't see him. "This is not happening."

"Oh it _so _is." Greg grasped at his chest. "Oh God, it hurts. I can't hold it in anymore!" He turned and ran, his white bathrobe disappearing in the crowd, his laughter echoing in the lobby.

"I'd really love to help you out, Ellen," Warrick explained gently, "but I'm...in a bathrobe."

"And you look steamy in it, handsome. Get over here."

Before Nick could do anything to help his friend, Warrick was whisked away.

Nick was left alone, standing in the middle of the elegant lobby in a bathrobe.

Just then–in unfortunate, perfect timing–Lindsey appeared, sucking on a lollipop. Charlotte was with her, along with two other girls around the same age.

"Nick?" she asked, with mock innocence.

Nick closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yes, Lindsey?"

"Why are you wearing a bathrobe?"

"I dunno. Comfy?"

Lindsey heaved a sigh and Nick knew that whatever she was about to say would add fuel to the 'playful' fight the two of them seemed to be having.

Lindsey raised an eyebrow. "You're such a weirdo." Heaving another sigh, she turned to her 'group.' "Let's go girls."

Charlotte grinned at Nick as Lindsey grabbed her by the arm. "He's a _cool_ weirdo," Charlotte decided loudly. "You're so lucky you're friends with him!"

"Ha!" Nick called after Lindsey. "Take that, Lindsey Willows! Some people think I'm cool!"

Lindsey just giggled to her friends. "Wait till you meet Greg!"

"Hey–the bathrobe was Greg's idea!" Nick called again. "He's the weirdo!"

But the girls were gone.

And Nick, once again, was by himself in the lobby.

Surrounded by people he didn't know.

In a bathrobe.

* * *

Catherine pushed her way into the lounge, eager to see what Greg was advertising as 'Warrick's finest moment.' Greg was right at her heels, now dressed in clothing, but still sporting the same grin he'd been wearing earlier. He nearly bumped into Catherine as she came to a sudden halt on the edge of the hardwood dance floor.

"Why is Warrick wearing a bathrobe?" she practically demanded, as if she instantly knew that Greg was responsible for making his friend look like an idiot.

Greg tried to feign innocence. "It's not like I _made_ him do it, Cath. If I told him to jump off a bridge–"

"Uh, Greg," Catherine groaned, interrupting so she wouldn't have to listen to his voice and feeling torn between laughing at the situation and trying to extract Warrick from it. If it had been Greg or Nick up there, she would have laughed for sure. But Warrick...Warrick was different. He was always...different.

Catherine sighed. Warrick was up there, being the gentleman he was, dancing salsa with Ellen...in a bathrobe. She had to do something. Taking a deep breath, she wondered why she felt somewhat jealous of Ellen at the moment–which seemed like an atrocity–and then launched herself onto the dance floor. She dodged a couple maniacal dancers before being grabbed by one, thrown into a twist, released, and sent sailing right into Warrick.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, as she bumped right into his back, elbowing him.

Ellen wrapped her arms around Warrick. "Hi...Cathy...dear," she said sweetly, between puffs and gasps. "Warrick's been...such a doll...helping me out...with my dancing."

"I know, he's...wonderful," she said, smiling briefly. "But I'm going to have to steal him away for a bit. We've got a bit of an emergency on our hands."

"Emergency?" Ellen let go of Warrick. "Oh dear, I knew it. That little Greg of yours finally OD'd at the buffet?"

When Catherine shook her head and pointed in Greg's direction, Ellen rolled her eyes and–to Catherine's horror–pinched Warrick's ass. "Oh oh, I get it now–hot stuff here must have raised the temperature of the ship so high that everyone's dropping like flies!" She pinched again, causing Warrick to wince. "Oh trust me babe, you're a looker...and I'm feeling the heat! Woah baby!"

That was the last straw.

Catherine firmly grabbed Warrick's wrist and pulled, removing Warrick from the situation.

And as she did that, Jim Brass appeared with perfect timing, accompanied by Nick, who was now dressed and wearing an expression of concern for his now saved friend.

"Ellen, look!" Catherine exclaimed, shoving a finger in Brass' direction. "It's Jimmy."

She didn't need to say it twice. Jim was whisked off his feet by a blur of pink as Catherine dragged Warrick across the floor and through the crowd.

"There isn't really an emergency, right?" Warrick asked, relief in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, there is," Catherine told him quickly. "_You're_ the emergency. You're wearing a bathrobe!"

"Greg's idea."

"I know. Just...get dressed will ya?"

He nodded. "Thanks, Cath...for rescuing me."

"Anytime, _hot stuff_," she said, echoing Ellen's words. "And do me a favour? Stop listening to Greg."

TBC

Author's Note: I hope you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing the last one. I'm really trying to get to those reply buttons, but I'm crazy busy! I'm hoping to keep the updates more frequent, and I will definitely try to reply to feedback this time around! Just know that I appreciate it, as always, and I'm so glad that so many people are still enjoying this story. I'm a little surprised that there is still so much support for it because of the slow updates, and I thank you for being so accepting of that!

Thanks!

Jazz


	17. Falling For Shakespeare

By dinner that evening, the long day had taken its toll on the group. Everyone had been in the sun way too long...

In the dining room, Brass was so preoccupied with thoughts of Linda and Ellen that he managed to spill the entire contents of his plate onto his lap. He brushed it off as a 'moment of clumsiness' but Lindsey, who had ended up with half of his vegetables on her shirt, loudly declared that clumsiness certainly wasn't the case. She then proceeded to angrily flick peas at Nick and mumble about how unfair he was being to Greg.

"Miss Cranky Pants" made her exit after Catherine decided that they'd all had enough of her sour attitude. She walked Lindsey to their room, grounded her for two nights, blocked out her high-pitched whines, and then left the room to make an interesting discovery.

Grissom, who was obviously suffering from the same "clumsiness" as Brass, was in the hall, trying to put his key in the lock. After several tries, Catherine walked up to him and pointed out –with glee–that he was likely trying to insert Sara's key into his door. He flushed a deep red, mumbled something, and then disappeared.

Catherine proceeded to the lounge, where she discovered that Greg, Nick, Brass, and Warrick were very much involved in a talent show rehearsal. This rehearsal included Linda and Ellen, who had obviously volunteered themselves to be back up singers. Catherine flopped into the chair and took in a horrendous rendition of YMCA. Sara, who was sporting a really floppy hat, joined her just as she was about to throw up.

Sara spent a few seconds covering her ears before carefully peeking out from under the hat. She mouthed the words "I need you" and then tapped her foot impatiently while Catherine hauled herself out of the chair. Sara led them to her room, pulling down the red hat every few steps.

"What the hell?" Catherine hissed, as Sara pulled her through the door. "What's with the hat, Sara?"

"I liked the colour," Sara replied, half-attempting a joke to delay taking the hat off.

"You didn't look like a lobster at dinner, so I'm guessing this is not sunburn related?"

"I'll show you in a second," Sara mumbled, as she flipped on the light and sat down on the corner of her bed. Catherine sat on the small couch as Sara pulled off the hat.

"What the hell?" Catherine repeated, her eyes growing wide at the sight of Sara's forehead. The younger woman had a cut on her forehead, right next to a bump that seemed to be swelling by the second. How she'd managed to acquire it, Catherine couldn't even guess.

Sara blew out a puff of air in defeat and offered the answer. "I fell..."

"How?"

"I tripped."

"On?"

Sara took a deep breath. "I got too much sun today, so I was taking a nap on the couch and then I got up to go meet Grissom and I tripped over that book." She pointed, half-glaring at the large book she'd borrowed from the ship's library on her most recent visit.

Catherine stifled a laugh as she picked up the massive anthology. "Shakespeare?"

"A complete collection of all his plays and sonnets!" Sara groaned loudly.

"I would quote him right now if I could."

"Leave that to Grissom."

Catherine grinned. "What a stupid way to injure yourself. Details please."

"What else do you need to know?"

Catherine moved from the couch to the bed so she could examine the damage. "Well, you tripped over the book, but what did you hit?"

"The wall and then the corner of the coffee table."

"Ouch. Double whammy."

"Yeah."

Catherine gently poked the puffy bruise. "I'm not sure what I can do for you," she said, shrugging. "You need to ice it, and you might want to have someone down at the medical centre take a look at it." She smiled sympathetically. "I take it you wanted my help so you wouldn't have to show Grissom?"

"I'm not exactly feeling very attractive at the moment."

"It's pretty bad," Catherine replied. "But you still look okay."

"Thanks." Sara rolled her eyes, wincing as it brought on a wave of pain. "Ugh, can you just help me cover it up? You're good with make-up. I don't know the first thing about it."

"Sure, but you need to get it checked out first."

"I'm fine. I don't want to make a big deal–"

Sara's words were cut short by the sound of a key card in the door.

"Oh crap," Sara mumbled, reaching quickly for her hat.

"Just leave it," Catherine said, swatting at her arm.

But Sara plopped the red hat on her head and crossed her arms just as Grissom entered the room.

"Guess you found the right key," Catherine teased, standing up.

Grissom stood in the doorway, confusion on his face. "Hi Cath. Sara..."

"Hi, Grissom. I bought a new hat. Like it?"

"It's very red."

"I'm enjoying it."

"Yes, I can see that."

Catherine tip-toed towards the door. "Sara, I'll be in my room whenever you need me."

"Thanks, Cath."

"Right." Catherine looked at Grissom and mouthed "she's hurt." But she wasn't quiet enough.

"Ugh, Catherine!" Sara pulled off the hat to glare at the other woman and then pointed to her eye and cheek in defeat. "I tripped. I hit the wall and table. And now it hurts. A lot."

Grissom was beside Sara in a second. He gently lifted her chin to get a better look. "This is bad," he said softly, reaching up with his other hand to prod the area around her eye.

"Ouch."

"Careful," Catherine scolded. "I didn't hurt her when I tried that."

"Yes you did, I just didn't say anything," Sara mumbled. "I don't think my cheek is fractured, but it does hurt." She winced. "Cath is going to help me cover it up..."

"Not before you get it checked out."

"Grissom."

"I don't feel any fractures, but I'm not an expert."

"Close enough." Sara pulled away. "I was trying to cover it up before you even noticed."

"Honey, that's going to be noticeable even with all of Cath's makeup covering it."

"Hey, I'm pretty good..." Catherine called, as she headed up the hall, finally disappearing from earshot.

Sara looked up at Grissom. "I didn't want you to see it."

"What? Why..."

"It's ugly."

Grissom wrapped his arm around her. "Actually, I was thinking the blue and purple combination is very nice on you. Even nicer than the red hat."

Sara gave him a half-smile. "Stop it."

He ran a hand over the back of her head, stroking her hair. "You look beautiful...you always do..." he said softly. "Don't worry about this."

"I fell over the Shakespeare anthology we signed out," she grumbled anyway, despite the fact that Grissom's loving words filled her completely. "I wasn't paying attention."

"You hit the wall? And the table?"

"In that order."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No."

He stared into her eyes, studying her carefully. "You're sure?"

"Yes." She reached up then, touching the side of his cheek. "Don't worry."

He stood then, pulling her up gently with him. "You fell head over heels for Shakespeare; that was exactly what I was hoping for, you know." He winked at her. "Let's get you checked out and then we can enjoy the rest of our evening."

"Alright, but then I'm putting make up on."

"If thou dost–"

"Don't go there."

* * *

Catherine decided to do some organizing as she waited for Sara. Lindsey, who was tucked in bed, slept soundly as she puttered around the room, folding and re-folding clothes, packing up some souvenirs they had purchased at their ports of call. The knock on the door came at about 10pm.

"Just a second," she called softly, trying not to wake Lindsey.

Expecting to see Sara, Catherine flung the door open without bothering to take off the facial mask she'd put on in an attempt to moisturize her slightly sunburned cheeks.

"Nice," Brass commented, taking in her appearance with a wink. He stepped in, surveying the clean room and nodding at Lindsey, who was down for the count. "That's good. She wasn't herself this evening."

"She's grounded."

"Ah, it wasn't that bad."

"She was rude."

Brass held up his hands. "She's still cute."

"And she knows it."

Chuckling, Brass leaned against the closet door. "What do you say about joining the girls and I for a game of cards? We need a fourth person."

"Aw, and I'm your first choice?" Catherine gushed sarcastically. "Aren't Linda and Ellen a little sensitive about the whole fake relationship thing?"

"Not at all. It wasn't going to stop them anyway."

"That's true." Catherine put her hands on her hips, deciding what to do with the rest of her evening. "I'm supposed to help Sara with her make-up, so I should really wait until she comes by."

"Make-up? Sara Sidle?"

"Yeah, she took a little spill. I'll let her fill you in later."

Brass nodded. "Sure, she's okay though?"

"Well you know Sara."

Brass nodded and tiptoed back through the door. "I don't want to wake Lindsey up so I'm going to go...I'm going to see if I can find Sara. I want the details. Then I'll be re-joining the_ ladies_. Hope to see you there."

"I'm sure it will be the highlight of my evening."

"You know it."

Brass didn't have to look for long. He met up with both Sara and Grissom as they came out of one of the ship's forward elevators. Grissom had Sara by the elbow, and Sara had an icepack pressed to her forehead.

"Fancy meeting you here," Brass said, immediately wrapping an arm around Sara. "What happened, kiddo? Face meet wall?"

Sara raised the eyebrow on the good side of her face. "Catherine told you already?"

Brass shook his head quickly. "No, actually, lucky guess. Your face met the wall?"

"And the table," added Grissom.

"I got it checked out and nothing's fractured," Sara informed him. "I'm fine. I'll just be sporting a swollen bruise for the next little while."

"I'm sure Catherine could do wonders covering that up," Brass suggested.

Sara nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I'm heading there now."

Brass handed Sara off to Grissom, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He pressed the call button for the elevators. "How did you fall?"

"I fell over Shakespeare."

"Oh." Brass shrugged. "Interesting." He didn't ask for further explanation because the elevator announced it's arrival and he jumped in. "As long as you're okay, sweetie. See you later."

Sara and Grissom exchanged a small smile.

"See, _he_ thinks I need to cover it up," Sara said, giving Grissom an elbow to the ribs.

"_He_ is currently spending all his time with Linda and Ellen. Are you going to trust Crazy Jim or are you going to trust me the person who knows you're the most beautiful woman in the world?"

Despite the icepack, heat flushed Sara's cheeks. "You," she whispered.

TBC


	18. Breathtaking

Greg stared out at the shores of Cozumel, one arm around Lindsey and the other around Sara.

"Well, Linds, you may be grounded, and Sara may have a shiner, but this is just breathtaking!"

Sara adjusted her floppy red hat and took a step away from the ship's railing. The view from the top deck was, indeed, breathtaking, but she had been ready to get off the ship for hours. Grissom was going to meet her in the lobby at eight o'clock and the two of them had big plans to explore one of Cozumel's parks. She was anxious to see the plants and wildlife she'd been reading about in the past few days. She was also anxious to _really_ get away from everyone and spend some uninterrupted time with Grissom.

"Breathtaking?" Lindsey repeated. "You know what would be breathtaking? Actually seeing you in the talent show tonight. You know–I don't get to go now." She paused. "You know what I also don't get to do?" She didn't pause. "I don't get to go to the water park with Charlotte."

"What _do_ you get to do?" Sara asked, patting the girl on the shoulder reassuringly.

Lindsey groaned. "I have to go to a towel art class with mom this morning on the ship and then we're getting off the ship to go to some sort of pottery class."

"That actually sounds sort of cool, Linds," Greg offered. "You can teach me how to make my towels into kissing swans. I need a new life skill."

"I'm more than willing to trade spots with you," she pouted. "I'd love to go four wheeling with the guys. Well, except Nick. So maybe I could trade spots with Nick..."

"What is it with you and Nick?"

Lindsey tried to force a frown. "He's..._Nick_..." But it didn't work. Greg quickly detected something odd in the mix as Lindsey's lips began to curve the opposite way. The girl successfully battled the smile but the colour in her cheeks won out. "He's annoying."

Sara tried to hold back her own smile. "Annoying, huh?"

"Yes. Annoying. He's mean to Greg." Lindsey put her hands on her hips, and with an insistent nod to both Greg and Sara, she took off at a very quick pace.

"Oh yeah," Sara said, now grinning. "Nick is just such a bully."

Greg was confused, frowning. "How did I not see that coming?"

"Between the buffet and the talent show, you've been a busy guy."

Greg gave her a light smack and the two of them headed to the elevators. "_You've_ been a busy _girl_," Greg replied. "When you're not with me, you're nowhere to be found. Must be all the great activities on board."

Sara smirked. "Well, maybe I have such a great time with you that I have to spend the rest of my time napping to recover!"

Greg chuckled. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Neither."

Greg pointed at her forehead and cheek, partially hidden by the brim of the red hat. "I forgot to factor in the time it's now taking you to get your make up done. Cath's doing a great job; I don't think you need the hat."

They stopped in front of the elevators and Sara pressed the button. "I like the hat."

Catherine burst out of the elevator before Greg could reply. "Oh good, there you are." Catherine grabbed Sara's arm and pulled her into the elevator. Greg followed. Pressing the button for the ninth floor, Catherine began to spill. "I really need a favour, Sar."

Sara nodded. "For you and your make-up, anything!"

"I need you to take Lindsey for me today."

_Anything but that,_ Sara thought silently. "Oh...okay..."

"I know you and...uh..." She stopped herself, glancing at Greg. "I know you have plans but it would just be for the morning and I can meet you at noon." Catherine took a breath. "I'd keep her in our room, but I don't want to completely ground her, just ground her a little–"

Sara cut her off. "It's okay, Cath."

"She won't be any trouble."

"Don't worry. She can come with me." The morning would be a lot different than she'd pictured, but she assumed that Catherine had a very good reason.

Catherine offered it as soon as they got out of the elevator on Deck Nine.

"They moved up my manicure and hair appointment."

Sara processed the words. "What?"

"Hair and nails. It's formal night again. They overbooked at the spa and now they're telling me I can't get in at all unless I come this morning. I was one of the last people to book."

Sara nodded, trying to decide if this was a good reason. "Okay..."

"My nails are just terrible right now and my hair is frizzy."

For Catherine, that was a disaster.

Sara assured her that she would take Lindsey that morning and meet Catherine at noon and then Catherine ran off to the spa, waving her thanks.

"I'll take Linds four-wheeling," Greg offered.

"Catherine didn't ask you to take Lindsey _because_ you're going four wheeling. She's supposed to be grounded and I'm assuming that she thinks anything I do will be boring enough to fit the 'grounded' criteria."

"Yep." Greg patted her on the shoulder. "Well, think of it this way, Sar. Lindsey just saved you from ultimate boredom: getting stuck with Grissom and his boring self-led tour of the wonders of Cozumel!"

Sara had to laugh.

_Think of it this way, Greg. That's what I wanted!_

* * *

At eleven o'clock, Lindsey Willows decided that she'd had enough. She adjusted her sunglasses, placed her hands on her hips and loudly declared that they were, indeed, lost.

"We're not lost," Grissom replied calmly. "We've simply taken a short detour." He consulted his map again while Sara brushed the sweat off her forehead. The trail they were on was well-shaded by the thick trees but the humidity was intense.

"We've been walking in a circle for the last twenty minutes," Lindsey whined. "We're lost!"

"Lindsey, we're fine," Sara insisted. "We just need to get back to the main trail."

Lindsey sat down on a big rock and crossed her arms. "You don't know where that is, do you?"

"It's not far away."

Lindsey grumbled to herself and then took a sip from her water bottle.

"Let's go down here," Sara said, pointing at the trail to their left. I think this will take us where we need to be."

Lindsey sighed. "If it doesn't, we'll end up dying of heat in a forest in Mexico. Great. Just how I wanted to go."

"Lindsey, quiet. You're disturbing the wildlife."

"They like it."

Grissom and Sara exchanged a glance and wandered a bit further away from Lindsey and her rock.

"We have to get her back," Grissom said in a whisper.

"Don't worry, we will," Sara replied. "We're not totally lost."

"No, I mean she's driving me nuts."

"Oh," Sara grinned and then mouthed an apology.

"Not your fault," Grissom mouthed back. "Catherine needed help." He reached out to touch her cheek with his fingers, completely forgetting the young audience behind him.

"Do you two want to be alone?" Lindsey asked, just as Grissom and Sara turned to face her with wide eyes.

"Drink some more water, Lindsey," Grissom said, clearing his throat. "We don't want you to get as flushed as Sara." He grabbed Sara's hand and led her to another rock. He helped her sit down and then knelt down in front of her, pretending to help her through "heat stroke."

"She might already know," Sara whispered. "Since Catherine knows..."

"Yeah, but Cath wouldn't tell Lindsey," Grissom said. "Not yet. She respects us."

"If Lindsey just figured it out, it's really going to spread quickly." Sara pressed her lips together. Grissom used his water bottle to wet the small towel he had in his bag. He then pressed it to Sara's cheeks to cool her down. It was part of their cover, but thoughtful nonetheless.

"I don't think she suspects anything," Grissom replied, pressing the cloth to her forehead now, carefully avoiding her bruise. Sara glanced over his shoulder to see that Lindsey had already lost all interest in them and was sprawled across the rock, staring at the sky, and humming.

Sara grabbed his hand and pulled it from her forehead, squeezing it tightly. "Thank you," she whispered, wishing she could kiss him.

Grissom stood and then helped her to her feet. "Let's get Lindsey out of here," he said loudly.

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Uncle Gil!" she called back, still staring up at the sky.

* * *

Catherine arrived at the port's welcome centre at noon, sporting dark red nail polish and styled golden waves. On either side of her were Linda and Ellen, both sporting sundresses, sunhats and fanny packs. Brass was at a nearby bar, buying all four of them drinks.

"Gee, Cathy, we were so lucky to run into you at the spa," gushed Ellen. "Jimmy told us all about your job last night in the lounge and we just think you are the cutest little crime fighter in the entire Western hemisphere!"

"Thank you, Ellen," Catherine said with a small chuckle. She was starting to like these ladies, which scared her. "I'm glad we ran into each other too. It's nice to have some time just for us girls. We should–"

Out of nowhere, Lindsey grabbed Catherine by the waist and squeezed. "Hi Linds!" Catherine said, when she managed to get her breath back.

"We got lost!" Lindsey exclaimed just as Grissom and Sara arrived. "Uncle Gil found the right trail after like forty minutes. It was so hot I like almost fell down like five times." Lindsey took a breath. "And Sara got heatstroke!"

Grissom and Sara exchanged a look and then Sara smiled at Catherine. "Yes, but all is good now. No worries. She was great, Catherine."

Catherine stared at her daughter. "Was she?"

Lindsey grinned.

"Okay, well, thanks again Sara...and Gil."

Linda and Ellen were already busy pinching Lindsey's cheeks and telling her once again how cute she was so Grissom and Sara didn't say goodbye to their young companion. They just waved to Catherine and disappeared as quickly as possible.

Greg appeared in the spot that Grissom and Sara had vacated.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to take Lindsey four wheeling?" he asked, gesturing towards Brass, who was carrying drinks with little umbrellas. "We didn't make it to the morning tour so we're just heading out now. You, Brass and the ladies can hang out all afternoon without having to worry about little Lindsey..."

Lindsey broke free from Linda and Ellen and grabbed Greg's arm. "Yes! Take me with you!"

"Lindsey, you're supposed to be grounded," Catherine reminded her. "You're with me."

"But mom, I already had to spend the morning getting lost with Uncle Gil and Sara. All they did was talk about plants, bugs and...heatstroke."

Catherine had to give her that. "Yeah, that probably wasn't enjoyable."

"It wasn't," Lindsey assured her. "It was definitely not enjoyable"

"Okay," Catherine relented, eyeing her umbrella drink. "But the grounding resumes when we get back on the ship and you listen carefully to all the safety instructions."

"I'll make sure she's got her helmet on," Greg assured Catherine before he and Lindsey took off.

Catherine shook her head as they disappeared into the crowd. "Great, now she'll think she can get out of being grounded from here on in."

"No she won't," Brass replied, handing her a drink. "Shall we head to the beach?"

Ellen nodded. "Yes, and Jimmy darling?"

"Yes, babe?"

"You'll have to be a dear and help me with my sun screen once we find some lounge chairs."

"Me too," Linda chimed in. "I'll definitely need a lot of help. Some places are just so hard to reach."

Brass grinned at Catherine. "It's nice to be needed."

"Oh I'm glad you feel that way." She handed him her heavy beach bag. "Thanks, _darling._"

"This view is breathtaking, isn't it?" Brass said, as he adjusted the beach bag on his shoulder.

Linda and Ellen, who had purposefully placed themselves directly behind Brass, loudly agreed.

TBC


End file.
